


The Narcissus Flower

by hedonistvenus (seafoamvenus)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Abuse, Also I want to murder Kenma's stepdad and you will too :), Also there's kinda like, And I apologize in advance for that because it's super icky, And Kenma's just kinda going through it, Angst with a Happy Ending, But his boyfriends are there to support him and help keep him afloat bc they love him, College, Dissociation, Eating Disorders, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Kozume Kenma-centric, Like Kenma's mom is emotionally abusive, M/M, Panic Attacks, Polyamory, Sexual Harassment, The fetishization of ftm trans guys, Trans Kozume Kenma, Transphobia, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:54:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 43,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25459660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seafoamvenus/pseuds/hedonistvenus
Summary: “Daddy says I’m selfish. Do you think I’m selfish, baby?”Kenma shook his head faster than he ever had before, wide eyes glued to his brand new console.“That’s good,” his mother sighed, brushing aside his hair and kissing him on the forehead. She then leaned in close to whisper to him, “Everything’s okay now. Daddy made me leave for longer than usual this time, but I promise I’m not letting him separate us anymore.”Kenma grew up quietly, with conditions attached to his love and worth, and quickly had to adapt to life with a pathological narcissist for a mother.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou/Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou, Akaashi Keiji/Kozume Kenma, Bokuto Koutarou/Kozume Kenma, Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou
Comments: 207
Kudos: 377





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, what's up, I'm hedonistvenus and I'm writing this as an outlet for my anxiety :)

Kenma never liked talking to people.

It started as childhood shyness and it was okay, because he never needed to speak much anyway. His mom was always right there with him, keeping away the strangers and letting him stay out of the conversation so he could play Pokemon Red on his Gameboy, and he was absolutely okay with that. It was easier than learning how to speak. Easier than dealing with the impulse to fidget his hands in the hem of his shirt when an aunt he had _never seen before_ asked if he remembered her from when he was a _baby,_ and having to force the words from his throat, where they’ve thickened and turned heavy and into cement.

But his dad wanted him to be better. He wanted Kenma to come out of his shell and learn how to speak for himself, pushing him to pay attention during adult conversations and watch carefully, to _learn_ and _understand_ body language, because maybe if he understood how people talk to each other, then _just maybe_ he would learn how to do it for himself.

And Kenma did. His voice was soft and he never had much to say, but he managed to make a friend— Kuroo, the boy next door— and his dad was _proud_ of him. But not much changed, besides his new companion who always wanted to play volleyball instead of Street Fighter. Kenma was still quiet and still unwilling to speak and he was still absolutely okay with that.

 _“I think it’s cute. Girls are naturally shy,”_ his mom would say, and she would speak for Kenma when he didn’t want to order his own meal, and introduce him to her co-workers when he would rather hide behind her leg and stare at them with wide eyes.

Kenma didn’t need to speak for himself, not when he had his mom right there, more than willing to do it for him.

So Kenma never grew out of it.

He learned to stay quiet and keep himself entertained without ever drawing attention, and that was good. He would listen in on his mom’s conversations, and light up when she would talk about how well-behaved he was, and over and over again, she would say how thankful she is for not having a rowdy child— and it made Kenma feel _good._ It made him feel wanted and loved, and only a _little bit_ upset that his dad couldn’t understand that.

* * *

Kenma’s mom liked to disappear sometimes.

It was okay, really it was, no matter how much he missed her. After school, he liked to call her and ask when she was coming back home, and she would always tell him: _“Soon, baby. Mommy’s just staying with a friend so daddy can remember how much he loves her.”_

She would only disappear after really big fights, which made sense. They were always the kind that made Kenma cover his ears and stay in his room— and he hated hearing them, so of course his mom hated being a part of them. But it was okay. She was only ever gone for a week at the most, and she always came back with gifts.

He was ten years old when his mom gave him a Nintendo DS. It came with Mario Kart and Pokemon Ranger, and Kenma didn’t put it down for weeks.

“I have something for you.”

It was early, and Kenma was still half asleep, rubbing at his eyes with the palms of his hands. His mom sat on the edge of his bed and woke him up with a wide smile, while his dad stood at the door, watching them with his arms crossed over his chest and a sour look on his face. Kenma wanted to ask what was wrong, but then he blinked, and there was a Nintendo DS in his lap.

“Daddy always says-”

“Moriko, _stop-”_

“Daddy says I’m selfish. Do you think I’m selfish, baby?”

Kenma shook his head faster than he ever had before, wide eyes glued to his brand new console.

“That’s good,” his mother sighed, brushing aside his hair and kissing him on the forehead. She then leaned in close to whisper to him, “Everything’s okay now. Daddy made me leave for longer than usual this time, but I promise I’m not letting him separate us anymore.”

Kenma’s breath hitched in his chest and he looked up, confusion and worry settling on his face. “We’re getting separated?”

“Not if mommy can do anything to help it.”

Kenma’s dad cleared his throat from the door, that serious look on his face the same, if not much, _much_ worse than before. “You can speak to your mother again later. We need to have a conversation.”

Kenma was ten and a half when his dad moved out.

* * *

“My parents got divorced.”

He was at the park with Kuroo, the one just a few blocks away from the middle school they would both be attending soon. Kenma idly sat on the swingset with his DS, only kicking off the ground every now and then, while Kuroo was on his feet, practicing bumping a volleyball over and over again without letting it hit the ground.

“That sucks.”

Kenma nodded. “Yeah, it does.”

Kuroo caught the ball in his hands and took his place on the other swing. “Do you miss your dad?”

“A little bit. But I have my mom so it’s okay, I think.”

When his parents sat him down to tell him they weren’t going to be married anymore, they asked who he wanted to live with, and of course, it wasn’t much of a question. His mom had already talked to him about it— told him that _daddy didn’t love mommy anymore_ and that Kenma _had to stay with mommy_ because she wasn’t sure how she could live with a broken heart, knowing that her baby was taken away from her.

So when Kenma’s dad asked if he wanted to live with him, Kenma stared down at his hands and shook his head and said, _“No thank you.”_

And it was sad, because Kenma liked his dad a lot. He liked it when he helped him beat the hard levels on his games, and when he got off work early and helped him practice volleyball with Kuroo. He was his dad, and Kenma didn’t want to choose between his parents because he loved them both, but his mom _needed_ him and he didn’t want to be the reason her heart broke in two.

But things changed after that, and Kenma didn’t know how to feel.

He was allowed to dress however he wanted when his dad was still around, but his mom started _insisting_ on blouses and skirts, and kitten strap shoes, and headbands to keep his hair out of his face, and it made Kenma feel sick. He felt like he was drawing attention, and _he was,_ because now no matter where he went, his mother’s friends were always complimenting him on being _such a pretty little girl._ They would fawn over him, and tell him how he’s going to be such a beautiful bride someday, and how his future husband will be lucky to marry someone so _pretty_ and _quiet._

And it made him feel gross. It made his stomach twist inside of him, and his hands would start to sweat, and he _just couldn’t understand_ why he was so uncomfortable. Those were compliments. They were supposed to make him feel _good,_ like when he was younger and everyone would tell him how mature he was for his age.

It wasn’t until junior high that he figured out what was wrong.

Kenma was walking home with Kuroo, hands buried in his uniform pockets as he stared down at his feet. He always hated looking at someone when he had to say something that felt important. “I don’t think I like dresses,” he quietly admitted.

Kuroo shrugged. “You never liked them, so that’s not much of a surprise.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, what kind of a best friend would I be if I didn’t notice? You were always kind of a tomboy.”

Kenma always saw himself as the same as Kuroo. They were close in age and had similar hobbies, ever since Kenma got him into Mortal Kombat and Kuroo taught him how to play volleyball. They knew each other's homes just as well as they knew their own, and they were _inseparable,_ so it was only natural that he thought they were similar.

“Also...” Kenma slowed his walking before coming to a complete stop, his eyes suddenly very concentrated on the laces of his school shoes.

Kuroo stopped and turned back to look at him. “What is it?”

Kenma never saw much of a difference between Kuroo and himself until recently, but once he noticed it, it was the only thing he could think about. He couldn’t stop wishing that he was a boy, because then maybe people wouldn’t look at him as much. If he was a boy, then maybe his mom would let him wear sweatshirts out of the house again, and maybe people would stop calling him pretty, and _just maybe_ he would stop feeling uncomfortable even when no one was looking at him.

Kenma swallowed the dryness from his mouth. “I don’t think I like my name,” he admitted, the words barely in a whisper, almost as if he was ashamed to hear them aloud. It was a foreign feeling, to voice his thoughts aloud for the first time, and it made his throat tighten like when he was called up to the board in math class and his hands were shaking too much to write properly. 

“Okay.”

Kenma looked up at him, eyes wide and hesitant. “Is that weird?”

“Not really,” Kuroo said. He slung his arm over Kenma’s shoulder and started walking again, pulling his friend along the sidewalk. “Do you need help coming up with a new one?”

Kenma wanted to be the same as Kuroo. He _was_ the same as Kuroo, but not really, but he _absolutely was._ He was thirteen when he started calling himself _Kenma,_ and it wasn’t until he got to Nekoma that he started wearing the boys’ uniform.

His mom wasn’t very happy with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Kenma's mother is a nightmare to be married to, and that is a fact  
> 2) Giving your kids gifts to convince them into living you is,,, such an icky thing. Totally in character for her but,, so icky


	2. There's Rosemary, That's For Remembrance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm supposed to wait until i write the next chapter to post this one but i got too excited,, so uh,,, don't let this flop pls

In hindsight, Kenma probably should have braced himself.

_“Kenma!!”_

Because as soon as he was off the bus, Bokuto was on top of him, clinging to him in a bone crushing hug that forced the air from his lungs in a quiet _wheeze._

It was happening. Bokuto was finally going to kill him.

Kenma always had a suspicion it would happen someday— Bokuto was relatively large and had a tendency to get careless when excited— but he never expected to be strangled to death in broad daylight, while Kuroo just stood there and _watched._ As far as he was concerned, Kuroo was an accessory to the crime, complacent to the murder of his very own boyfriend. How cruel.

Bokuto squawked loudly— something about missing him _so, so much_ — and Kenma winced.

“You’re screaming in my ear.”

“Oh, right. My bad,” Bokuto said, and he released his vice-like grip on his boyfriend. He smiled brightly, no traces of embarrassment in sight, even with the nearby commuters stealing judgemental glances in their direction.

Kenma, on the other hand, wasn’t blessed with that kind of nonchalance.

Kenma lived his life in a constant state of hyperawareness, always _painfully_ aware of who was around him and how they perceived him. Especially when he was in public.

Maybe, it was his own fault that he was like this. Maybe, it was his mom’s. Maybe, it was because of the years she spent dressing him up and showing him off _like a doll,_ and how her attention slowly turned to scrutiny as he got older, and how it made him want to _shrink._

He wanted to shrink right now.

He wanted to shrink down and melt into his own skin like the Wicked Witch of the West, and disappear from the public eye. He wanted to be at home. He wanted to be in his bedroom, buried under his covers where no one could _see him_ , or _look at him,_ and he would feel safe and be able to catch his breath.

But he wasn’t.

He was with his boyfriends, who knew how to deal with his anxiety and make him feel safe when things got out of hand. Kuroo knew to start talking about his day, because Kenma always felt better when he was listening to Kuroo’s voice, and Bokuto knew to wrap an arm around his shoulders to remind him to release the tension in his muscles. They pulled him in the direction of their apartment building, and Kenma silently followed along as his mind reeled back into a more manageable state.

It didn’t take long for him to calm down once they were in a less crowded area, and Kuroo was the first to speak up. “You doing alright, sweetheart?”

“Sorry.”

“I didn’t ask you to apologize. I asked if you’re feeling alright.”

Kenma nodded. “Yeah. I’m just- I’m tired,” he said, and that was the truth. It had been a long, irritating day for him, and really, he was surprised it took him this long to get overwhelmed.

It was overly crowded on the train this morning, which already put him on edge, and then there was the surprise test his professor handed out in class. Then he got pushed around by the rush hour commuters at the station on his way home, and by that point, he was beyond sick of it.

And then he realized he left his keys in his room, and that he was locked out until his mom got home from work. It was only sheer luck that Kuroo called, and Kenma let it slip that he had been sitting outside for the past hour, playing on his 3DS to kill time.

 _“Stop being difficult. Get back on the train,”_ Kuroo had said, because Kenma’s mom always worked late and there was _no way in hell_ he was just going to let him sit there until she came home.

Which was how Kenma found himself back in the city, this time with Kuroo and Bokuto at their apartment. Kenma promptly kicked off his shoes at the door and collapsed face first onto the couch, sinking softly into the cushions.

He wasn’t designed for being outside this long. He wanted to hibernate.

Bokuto crouched down beside him and pressed soft kisses into his hair. “Still tired?”

Kenma nodded and tilted his head to meet Bokuto’s mouth for a moment, humming in quiet satisfaction as he pulled away because Bokuto _chased his lips_ , because it was always the little things that made Kenma want to melt. But melt in the good way. The way that made him feel warm and fuzzy and like he’s never felt more loved in his life.

“Get up. You need to eat dinner before passing out,” Kuroo said, and Kenma really wished he could ignore him.

“Too tired to eat.”

“Don’t care,” Kuroo asserted. He snatched Kenma’s phone from his grasp and earned a death glare in return. “You need to eat, and Akaashi’ll kill me if he finds out I let you skip out on dinner.”

Even now, it still confused him.

He had not one, but _three boyfriends,_ and for some reason, they didn’t care that Kenma was perpetually grumpy or that he liked to complain about stupid things. They still wanted to take care of him, and hold him close, and give him sleepy kisses, and make him dinner, and it was strange because he really wasn't anything special.

* * *

They had leftovers from the night before— udon noodles and fried vegetables— and Kenma discovered that he was actually hungry after all.

Now, Kuroo and Bokuto were laid out on opposite sides of the couch, long limbs wired together in a surprisingly comfortable fashion while Kenma laid on Kuroo’s chest, his legs seamlessly tangled with theirs. He didn’t want to fall asleep. He needed to wait for his mom to call him back so he could go home like he was supposed to, but his eyes were heavy, and Kuroo really wasn’t doing him any favors by stroking his hair.

Bokuto watched them fondly. “You should sleep over tonight,” he said, and Kenma hardly registered his words.

“It’s a school night.”

“So?”

Kuroo laughed, but it was light enough to keep from disturbing his sleepy boyfriend. “Kenma needs his beauty sleep or else he’ll be grumpier than usual.”

“Shut up,” Kenma tried to snap. His words were hollow.

“Oh, was that supposed to be threatening? Am I supposed to be scared of a sleepy little kitten?” Kuroo chose that moment to comb through Kenma’s hair, scratching gently at his scalp, and any retort he had left died quickly and quietly in his throat.

* * *

He didn’t realize he had fallen asleep until he woke up.

Everything was foggy and slow as he blinked himself awake, mind working overtime to clear away the remnants of his unexpected nap. It was dark now. The television was off, and Kenma was still with Kuroo on the couch, now securely tucked under his arm. Kuroo was fast asleep, his breathing slow and heavy and comforting to Kenma’s ears. At some point, Bokuto had shifted over to the loveseat and he was now curled up with a blanket, snoring lightly into the quiet of the apartment.

Kenma’s eyes were still heavy and he was still far too comfortable for much thought, but his phone was buzzing. He glared at it like it had done something to offend him, and answered it before the sound could wake either of his boyfriends up.

“Hello?” He rubbed at his eyes, trying to wipe away the sleepiness from his mind.

 _“Where are you right now?”_ It was his mom. Kenma felt his stomach drop.

“Kuroo’s apartment.”

 _“Why?”_ She asked, and Kenma knew she was upset. She was upset with him, and _he knew_ this was going to happen. He should have just stayed and waited for her to come home. _“It’s the middle of the week, Kenma. You’re supposed to tell me before you go over there.”_

His throat was tight. It was shrinking and he was going to stop breathing and asphyxiate. “Sorry.” He swallowed, and his throat was hard and sore and made of stone. “I left my key and you didn’t answer when I called.”

_“It’s not my fault you locked yourself out.”_

“I know. I’m sorry.”

She sighed sharply, and Kenma wished he could shrink down to an amoeba and disappear. _“I work a double shift and now I have to cook dinner for myself too.”_

“Sorry.”

_“It’s- it’s fine, baby. Just don’t do this again.”_

“I won’t.”

 _“Thank you,”_ she said. _“Call me tomorrow before you get to class, okay? I love you.”_

Kenma responded a rehearsed, _“I love you too,”_ and the call was over. He couldn’t shake the feeling that his mom was still mad at him. He would have to stay home more to get back in her good graces.

Kuroo groaned sleepily and wrapped his arm tight around Kenma, pulling him closer. “You say sorry too much.” He kissed behind Kenma’s ear. “Not everything’s your fault, you know.”

Kenma wasn’t sure if he should respond to that. He wanted to say that this _actually was_ his fault, that he was stupid enough to forget his keys and ended up making things harder on his mom as a result— but he had a suspicion Kuroo wouldn’t take well to hearing that. He was usually the first to get on Kenma for being so negative, especially when it was something negative about himself.

So rather than incriminating himself, Kenma turned his attention to Bokuto. He was stirring in his sleep, looking strangely small, all curled up in the loveseat. There was no way in hell someone his size could be comfortable sleeping like that.

“Go wake him up,” Kenma said, nudging at Kuroo with his shoulder.

Kuroo protested by burying his face in the shoulder of Kenma’s sweatshirt. Kenma nudged him again, much harder this time, and writhed out of his grasp when he didn’t make any attempt to move.

Kuroo groaned. “What do you expect me to do? Deal with a sleepy, clingy Bo trying to drag me into bed?”

“Obviously.”

“That’s Akaashi’s job. He’ll do it when he gets home.”

Kenma rolled his eyes. “Whatever. I’m sleeping in your bed.”

 _“Our_ bed.”

“I don’t live here.”

* * *

Kenma was never one to eat much at home. He was terrible at telling when he was hungry, and even worse at making himself something to eat once he figured it out. But when he was at home, he just… didn’t get hungry. Not really.

“Oh, you already ate, didn’t you?” His mother asked as he walked into the kitchen that morning. No, he actually had _not_ eaten, but he stopped nonetheless. “You already know I’m not letting you into any wedding photos if you don’t fit back into your dress.”

“Okay.” Kenma felt his stomach drop all the way to his toes. Any semblance of an appetite promptly disappeared into thin air in that moment. “I’m wearing a dress?”

“The one you wore last time,” she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “What? Don’t tell me I have to find something bigger for you?”

He hoped not. He really, really, _really_ hoped not.

* * *

**Keiji (Saturday 17:23)**

Have you left your room today

**Kenma (Saturday 17:23)**

yeah

**Keiji (Saturday 17:24)**

Did you get anything to eat?

**Keiji (Saturday 17:31)**

Kenma?

**Kenma (Saturday 17:33)**

youre not gonna like my answer

Kenma, of course, had not eaten today.

But it wasn’t anything to worry about. He wasn’t actively starving himself or locking himself in his room to avoid meals, he just… wasn’t hungry. Not after those comments his mom made. Not after learning he had to fit into his old dress, and feeling the bile rise up in his stomach just from thinking about it.

But it wasn't a big deal. Sure, he had teared up a bit and hadn’t left his room since then, but that was just because he was over-sensitive. It really, _really_ wasn’t a big deal.

**Keiji (Saturday 17:38)**

Tetsurou made nikujaga. You should come over.

**Kenma (Saturday 17:41)**

im kind of grounded

not really because i’m an adult

but my moms irritated so i dont really want to push it

you know?

**Keiji (Saturday 17:43)**

Okay

But you still need to eat something.

**Kenma (Saturday 17:47)**

i will if i get hungry

He won’t. But it’s nice to pretend sometimes.

Akaashi, of all people, should have been able to see through that. He knew about Kenma’s terrible relationship with food, because he had one as well. He grew up in a strict household with parents who were never home— and when they were, it was all distant and critical and calculated interactions. He ended up with some habits— skipped meals and fingers down his throat— that even now, years later, he was still working to unlearn.

The only difference between him and Kenma, was that he didn’t hesitate to move out after graduation. Kenma wished he could do that.

He quickly changed the conversation topic before Akaashi could respond.

**Kenma (Saturday 17:48)**

did i tell you my moms getting married again

**Keiji (Saturday 17:50)**

Yes, you said this would be her third husband. Does that make you upset?

**Kenma (Saturday 17:53)**

not really. i don’t really care.

Kenma’s mother didn’t have the best track record when it came to marriages.

Kenma’s dad— her first husband— left and was never to be seen or heard from again, save for the occasional phone call on holidays, but those got fewer and more far between as he got older.

And her second husband— well, they got married when Kenma was in his last year of junior high and divorced before they made it to their second anniversary. Kenma had a stepsister named Yuuko for a brief time, and she was sweet. She was a few years younger than him, and Kenma didn’t mind her dad, so everything worked out. Or at least it did, until his mom told Yuuko that she _already had one daughter_ and _didn’t need another one_. The divorce came quick after that.

Kenma felt terrible about the entire situation, but he couldn’t tell if it was because his mother used him to hurt Yuuko, or because she referred to him as her _daughter,_ even though he had already come out to her by that point.

Which was strangely similar to why Kenma wasn’t looking forward to this next wedding.

**Kenma (Saturday 17:55)**

im gonna feel gross though

im not out to the rest of my family so i have to dress up and get deadnamed

**Keiji (Saturday 17:59)**

That’s terrible. At least Tetsurou will be there with you.

**Kenma (Saturday 18:02)**

yeah

**Keiji (Saturday 18:09)**

I’ll call you later tonight. Don’t forget to eat dinner <3

* * *

Technically, Kenma didn’t _forget_ to eat dinner. He chose not to. He made the decision to play videogames in his room all day to keep himself distracted from any thoughts of meals— which was funny, because that was _exactly_ what he said he _wasn’t_ going to do.

It was funny. In a sad, morbid kind of way.

Kenma ignored Akaashi’s call that night, and he didn’t eat breakfast the next day either. But he did manage to swallow down some onigiri for lunch and dinner. It wasn’t much, but it was something, and it felt like a success, because no matter how terrible Kenma felt, he really, _really_ didn’t want to disappoint Akaashi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Just a disclaimer!! I am not trans!! So I won't be writing much about dysphoria or transitioning bc it's just,,, not something I can write from my own experiences. Dysmorphia? Yeah, absolutely. Anxiety? Fuck yeah. But just because Kenma's trans in this fic doesn't mean everything will revolve around that singular aspect of his character, if that makes sense. I hope that makes sense.  
> 2) This chapter is a homage to my habit of getting locked out of my house as a child and my mom's habit of never picking up her phone while she was at work lol  
> 3) pls pls pls comment and talk to me!! i wanna know what you think!!! you can insult me and tell me how much this sucks if you want, i really won't care bc i just love comments that much!!!!!


	3. And There's Pansies, That's For Thoughts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *slaps hood of chapter* boi you can fit a lot of gay shit in here  
> i'm a slow writer so two and a half months isn't really that bad for me, but i apologize anyways.  
> tw: dysphoria and dysmorphia

Akaashi was pretty, and that was a fact. Kenma was wholeheartedly convinced that there was an alternate universe where he became a model, or a drama actor, or something else destined for gorgeous people, because _he was just that pretty—_ even when he had bread crumbs sticking to his face.

“You’re so careless when you eat,” Kenma softly chided. They were at the coffee shop on the edge of campus, and because he was feeling _particularly nice,_ he reached across the table to brush the remains of Akaashi’s chocolate croissant from the corner of his mouth.

Akaashi caught his hand before he could retreat though. He took the pad of Kenma’s thumb into his mouth, licking up the crumbs without hesitation— or any shame. Kenma’s legs twitched underneath the table as he willed himself not to kick him.

This was it. This was the only downside to his boyfriends living together.

They were exposed to _Kuroo,_ and really, Kenma should have known it was only a matter of time before they were contaminated by proximity.

He wished Kuroo was there. He wanted to kick him.

Akaashi smiled his barely there smile. The corners of his eyes were creased up, the amusement clearly shining through his gaze. “Too much?”

Well, considering the way Kenma could still feel the goosebumps tickling up his skin and settling into his bones with the overwhelming desire to be _touched_ and _held,_ that was probably a yes. It was embarrassing how quickly Akaashi could turn him on. He had to take a moment to remind himself how to think.

“You’re an idiot,” he eventually settled on, because _apparently_ watching his boyfriend suck on his fingers for, like, half a second _really_ did it for him. “But… I guess you could do it again. If you wanted to.”

Kenma was _well aware_ of how pathetic that sounded. He sounded needy and sappy and begrudgingly in love, and it was _absolutely disgusting._

He had grown used to shoving any untameable emotions down, hiding them behind thick sweaters and tight lips— but he wasn’t able to see his boyfriends very often. So his feelings tended to bubble up and fester inside of him. And now he would act _disgustingly affectionate_ whenever he was lucky enough to have them nearby.

It was the worst.

Akaashi, Kuroo, and Bokuto were a lot busier than Kenma was. They had classes and work, and Bokuto had volleyball practice, and Kenma could only ever see them in passing during the day— which was worse than not being able to see them at all. He wanted to be _near_ them. He wanted to hold their hands and let them get on his nerves, and that was really only possible if someone skipped class for an impromptu lunch date.

Kenma was skipping his art history lecture.

Akaashi opened his mouth, likely to tease Kenma further, but then his phone caught his attention. The smile on his face dropped as he noticed the incoming call from his father.

Kenma was often wrong about things, but he had been under the impression that Akaashi’s parents disowned him after he moved out. Or maybe they just never made an effort to keep in contact with him.

“You still talk with your parents?”

“Only when they want something from me.”

That didn’t do much to ease any of his second hand anxiety.

Akaashi answered the call, his lighthearted demeanor from earlier completely shielded up. “I would appreciate it if you could make this conversation as quick as possible. I am very busy right now.”

Kenma opened Fallout Shelter on his phone to distract himself. The least he could do was create the illusion of privacy, so it wouldn’t be so terribly obvious that he had no choice but to overhear Akaashi’s conversation. 

“My grades are fine,” Akaashi responded after a long pause. “I can assure they’ll be up before midterms, and that’s all that matters.”

Of course they were talking about school. That explained why Akaashi was fidgeting with his hands, picking at the nails and flicking his thumb over his knuckles. He was like Kenma in that regard— they both used their hands as vectors for anxiety. Akaashi wasn’t a very expressive person by nature, and all of his tells were slight, but Kenma knew what to look for. He was getting worked up.

“I haven’t-” Akaashi cut himself off, taking a breath to regain his composure. “That was a mistake on my part. I can manage classes and work just fine. I apologize for my lack of discipline.”

The resignation in his voice made Kenma want to throw up. Now he _really_ wished Kuroo was there. He was always better when it came to comforting people.

Akaashi grew up suffocated and lonely. He was the youngest of four brothers who had all gone off to university by the time he started primary school, and his parents were corporate slaves who spent more time at the office than they did at home. They had impossibly high expectations for him, always criticizing and comparing him to his brothers— and as a result, Akaashi taught himself to close off his emotions and neglect himself to keep them happy. Kenma _hated_ seeing the echoes of those old habits.

Akaashi nodded out a few more dejected agreements, some empty promises that he definitely wouldn’t be keeping, and then the call was over. He placed his phone face down on the table and glared at it with a sharp distaste. Kenma closed out his game, and unsure of what else to do, he nudged Akaashi’s coffee closer to him.

Akaashi’s expression softened just the slightest. That was good. That meant Kenma wasn’t fucking this up.

“Sorry you had to deal with… whatever that was.”

“It’s not your fault. My father is an emotional vampire, and I seem to be the only one in my family with enough clarity to have an issue with it.”

Kenma nodded, understanding. “I thought you cut them off.”

“That’s still a work in progress.” Akaashi took a sip from his latte and sighed, willing the stress to melt away from his shoulders. “My parents are currently paying for whatever my scholarship didn’t cover this semester, but I should be able to become financially independent by next year if I save up enough.”

“Sounds like a lot of effort,” he responded. Akaashi had been working a lot of hours lately, and that was in addition to his classes and assignments. Kenma could never do that. He was much too tired to do anything remotely productive most of the time, let alone be a fulltime student and have a fulltime job on the side.

Akaashi nodded. “It’s a lot more difficult than it seems.” He opened his mouth to continue, but took one look at Kenma, and narrowed his eyes as if he were looking for something. Or realizing something. “But… it’s manageable, and it’s for the best. I can help you figure out how to start cutting ties with your mother, if you want.”

Kenma wasn’t the independent type, and he was pretty sure that was obvious. Cutting off parents and moving out just wasn’t for people like him. “You don’t have to do that.”

“It won’t inconvenience me, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’m not.” Kenma took that moment to drink from his iced coffee, needing a distraction to drown out his blatant lie. He had always been a good liar, since he didn’t talk very much, but Akaashi was like him— he knew his tells like the back of his hand.

Kenma didn’t want to talk about this anymore. It was easier to avoid the things he didn’t like, so he did. And he was okay with that.

Akaashi looked like he didn’t believe him. But if he wanted to say anything, he didn’t make it known.

* * *

Kenma hesitated at the doorway to his mother’s office. He didn’t usually bother her while she was working from home, but he had to pass by to get back to his room, and well— yeah, he wanted to hear her opinion on something.

Or maybe he wanted permission. There wasn’t much of a difference between the two.

Kenma had known Akaashi since they were first years— a friendship blossoming between practice matches, and training camps, and quiet moments away from Kuroo and Bokuto— so Kenma knew _for a fact_ that Akaashi used to be like him. That he wasn’t always _independent._

Akaashi used to be desperate for his parent’s approval. He used to do whatever they asked of him, bleeding himself dry in a desperate attempt for the _praise_ and _recognition_ that was only awarded to his brothers. But now he was his own person, and he was happy. He smiled more often. He took better care of himself. So, if Akaashi was doing good for himself, then maybe there was some hope for Kenma after all.

“What would you do if I got a job?”

Kenma’s mother sat at her desk, reading over documents and retyping the data into the computer program she used for work. She needed to get this done so she could take the week off work following the wedding, and Kenma felt terrible for interrupting. He was being an inconvenience, and he knew it.

“Mom?”

“I heard you, I heard you,” she sighed, not even bothering to give him the benefit of a glance upwards. “Why would you need a job?”

Even without his mother looking at him, Kenma felt like he was under a spotlight. It was a million degrees, and it was hotter than the sun. The rubber soles of his slippers had melted to the spot, and he was stuck, and it was only a matter of time before he melted down to the bone.

He had practiced for this conversation all day long. Mentally, he had listed out reasons for wanting to work, and justifications for when she would inevitably question his decision— but in the heat of the moment, everything was wiped from his memory, turned to ash and dust by the million sun spotlight.

Kenma shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “It’s just an idea.”

 _“Kenma.”_ His mother brushed a loose strand of silky black hair behind her ear, and looked up at him, a distinct lack of warmth behind her gaze. “You know that I’d rather you focus on school right now. We wouldn’t want you getting _overwhelmed_ from being out of the house too much, now would we?”

“No.”

He was an idiot for even asking.

“I give you more than enough spending money. You just like eating out too much.”

“Sorry.”

His mother shook her head and got back to work, an amused smile taking its place on her face. She laughed to herself. It was light and sweet, and it pierced his heart in a way he couldn’t quite comprehend. “Really, baby? _You?_ Getting a _job?_ You would last a week before getting fired for losing interest.”

He swallowed down the tightness in his throat, taking his mom’s words far closer to heart than he knew he should have. “Sorry for bringing it up.”

* * *

Kenma’s first love was probably the original DOOM trilogy. Back when he was much too young to play the games for himself, he used to push a chair over to his dad’s desk and watch him play for hours at a time. They had to be quiet and speak in hushed voices, since his mother had banned violent videogames from the house, but Kenma didn’t mind. It just made the games that much more exciting, knowing that they had to be kept a secret between the two of them.

He didn’t talk to his dad often— or at all, really— but he thought about him a lot.

Kenma’s dad was a programmer. He was nice, and he wore glasses, and he was good at videogames. He liked first-person shooters, and DOOM II was his favorite game. He moved to Nagoya after the divorce. Sometimes Kenma wondered if he should have gone with him.

But Kenma was a realist. He could count the number of times they had spoken in the last two years on one hand. His memories of his father were biased and outdated, and for all he knew, he could be an entirely different person now. No matter how much he liked to imagine that his father still thought about him, it was much more likely that he had moved on from his failed relationship years ago, and only called his son as a courtesy.

* * *

Kenma collapsed onto his bed, and deep inside himself, he made up his mind that he wasn’t getting back up for anything less than a category five hurricane. He was tired. He needed more coffee. He had looked at The Great Wave so many times that he could draw it from memory.

Against the better judgement of Kuroo, Akaashi, and even _Hinata—_ Kenma decided to procrastinate on his research assignment and leave it unfinished until the very last moment.

It was a mistake. He had made up his mind on that too, because there was a fine line between being _sleepy_ and being _exhausted_ , and Kenma was pretty sure he crossed over about fourteen hours ago. He had read so many articles about Ukiyo-e that the kanji started to look wrong in his eyes.

The distant buzz of caffeine still in his system kept Kenma from falling asleep like he desperately wanted, but laying down was better than nothing. One hour, and he didn’t feel like a zombie anymore; another, and he was able to ignore the urge to fling his phone across the room when it rang with an incoming video call from Kuroo.

Kenma reached for his earbuds and accepted it. “What do you want?” He asked, completely cheery, and _not at all_ grumpy when Kuroo’s image came up on the screen.

Kuroo was in Bokuto and Akaashi’s room, sitting and doing homework on their bed— given away by the polaroids pinned above the headboard. Bokuto had been obsessed with photography ever since Kenma saved up enough to buy him a camera for his birthday last year. Some of the pictures were blurred. Some of them had a finger in the way of the lens. But the art student in Kenma couldn’t be bothered to care. They were so unapologetically Bokuto.

Kuroo grinned, despite Kenma’s _definitely_ grumpy greeting. _“C’mon now. Is that anyway to talk to the love of your life?”_

“I’m not talking to Kou,” Kenma responded without a moment’s hesitation.

 _“Ouch!”_ Kuroo gasped. He clutched at his chest in mock pain. _“I thought Keiji was supposed to be the brutal one.”_

Kenma looked at him, unimpressed. “Do you want me to hang up on you?”

 _“Okay, okay, I’m done teasing. How did your presentation go?”_ Kenma groaned from just thinking about it. _“That bad, huh?”_

To be honest, it was far from being the worst presentation he had ever given. But Kenma was already anxious by nature, and being sleep deprived didn’t exactly work in his favor. “It was fine, I guess. I was just- I’m not the smartest. I couldn’t figure out how to get the words out.”

Kuroo bit at the end of his pen. _“Okay, so you trip over your words when you talk. Not a big deal. You’re smart as hell, and you really need to start giving yourself more credit.”_

“I will when I see a reason to.”

_“Bet that artist you had to research gave himself more credit. Monet, right? The one who cut off his ear?”_

“Van Gogh,” Kenma corrected. “But you get points for trying. They were both really into woodblock prints.” He had read more than enough about them last night to recite at least a dozen differences in that moment, but Kenma was feeling _decently nice,_ so he decided to spare Kuroo from that. Monet was French and founded the Impressionist era. Van Gogh was Dutch and a _Post-_ Impressionist. Also, there was the fact that Van Gogh was _severely_ depressed, but Kenma had a feeling that bringing that up would sour the conversation.

Kuroo smiled, smug and proud of himself. _“See, look at that. You know what you’re talking about. You wouldn’t know all this art history stuff if you weren’t smart.”_

Where Kenma was anxious, Kuroo was easy going. He helped put things into perspective when Kenma was too wrapped up to do it himself, and really, it was far too easy for him to fall for the boy next door.

It was like a shitty romance movie— one of the low-budget ones with all the childhood friends to lovers tropes. Holding hands while walking home from practice. Sharing quiet kisses in the privacy of their bedrooms when they were supposed to be studying. There had always been something between them, even before they knew how to put words to the feelings, and it was only natural that they ended up together.

Kuroo looked up from his homework and grinned widely as Bokuto entered the frame, fresh out of his post-practice shower. His hair was down and unstyled, and he was shirtless— all broad shoulders, and toned muscles, and it was _absolutely unfair_ how good he looked.

Kenma watched unwaveringly as Bokuto cupped Kuroo by the jaw and leaned down to kiss him softly. Kuroo melted into the contact, his brain short circuiting, as it always did when he kissed one of them. _“Mmm,”_ he sighed. _“Dude, you smell good.”_

They looked so good together. Kenma loved them so much.

_“Yeah?”_

_“Yeah.”_

Kuroo tugged on the drawstring of Bokuto’s sweatpants, and Bokuto must have understood the nonverbal request, because then he was climbing onto the bed, up on his knees, and using his new leverage to take Kuroo’s face in his hands and kiss him stupid.

Kenma was fine with watching— he could watch them for a lifetime without once losing interest— but only if they were alright with that. He had a suspicion that Kuroo had forgotten they were on the phone. “Do you want me to go?”

Bokuto’s expression lit up. He pulled away and looked toward the camera. _“Oh shit, is that Kenma? You were talking to Kenma?”_

 _“What? Yeah.”_ Kuroo blinked absentmindedly. His hair was more messed up than usual, and he looked like his head was reeling. _“Who else would I be talking to?”_

 _“I don’t know- actually, wait. No. You really only call him. You should make more friends, Tetsu.”_ Bokuto snatched the phone from where Kuroo had it propped up, giving Kenma a close up view of his face. He was absolutely beaming. _“Kenmaaaaa. I miss you, so we need to hang out soon, okay?”_

It wasn’t even a question. Kenma would drop anything to see any of them. “You can buy me lunch tomorrow. I’ll skip.”

 _“Okay!”_ Bokuto lit up even more— if that was even possible— and off screen, Kuroo huffed, spoiled and dramatic as he was.

_“How come you never buy me lunch?”_

Bokuto blinked. _“Hm? You never ask me to.”_

“Also you’re annoying,” Kenma supplied, rolling his eyes.

Bokuto snickered at that, and Kuroo gasped, _“Hey! You’re not supposed to agree with him!”_

_“I didn’t say anything!”_

Kuroo huffed again, whining and playing up the theatrics. _“You’re complicit to his bullying though, and saying nothing is just as bad as being the bully. Therefore, I’m confiscating my phone. No more screen time for either of you.”_

Kenma was also convinced that there was an alternate universe where Kuroo went into acting. Or at least, he _hoped_ there was. Kuroo was an attention whore and had a big enough ego for it— and Kenma wasn’t sure how to cope if he learned that every alternate version of himself had to put up with his antics.

 _“Bro, wha- that’s not fair! It was just a joke!”_ Bokuto wailed, pulling away as Kuroo tried to grab his phone back.

_“Don’t care. You’re both bullies.”_

The phone was knocked from Bokuto’s grip, the screen going dark on Kenma’s end. Kuroo laughed— being an asshole, as usual— and Kenma heard Bokuto groan in irritation. _“C’mon, man! I haven’t talked to him in, like, forever!”_

_“Then you should’ve thought of that before-”_

The bed creaked loudly and Kuroo’s breath hitched, his laughter quickly shifting from smug to hysterical. He was being tickled. Kuroo _hated_ being tickled, which naturally, meant that they did it all the time.

 _“Wait, wait, no-”_ Kuroo tried to get the words out, his voice high and giggly as he fell into a laughing fit. _“Bo- haha, oh my god- Bo, please-”_

_“Are you gonna stop being a brat?”_

_“Make- hah- make me.”_

Kuroo’s laughter intensified, and Kenma turned his phone’s volume down at risk of going deaf. It was closer to a scream than anything else. Their neighbors probably thought they were fucking— and from the way the laughing died down, now replaced by something that sounded _suspiciously_ like moaning, Kenma couldn’t exactly confirm that they _weren’t._

There was rustling, and the distinct sound of Kuroo panting, trying to catch his breath.

 _“Are y’gonna be good now?”_ Bokuto’s voice was soft and low.

 _“Maybe.”_ Bokuto hummed curiously, and Kuroo’s words caught in his throat. _“Hnng- fuck-”_

Kenma was absolutely convinced that they were fucking.

He heard the bed creak again, and then his screen lit up, Bokuto and Kuroo coming back into focus. Kuroo was pinned to the bed, his arms behind his back and his mouth muffled by Bokuto’s hand. Bokuto grinned like he had never been more proud of himself. Kenma’s mouth went dry.

He took a screenshot.

And then he reminded himself how to speak. “He’s almost cute like that,” he said, solely because he knew it would get on Kuroo’s nerves.

Bokuto laughed. _“I don’t think he’s ever shut up for this long before.”_

Kenma caught the mischievous glint in Kuroo’s eyes before Bokuto noticed— before he was recoiling, setting their boyfriend loose and looking at his hand like it would fall off at any moment.

 _“Ew! Bro, did you just lick me?!”_ Bokuto wiped his hand on the bedsheets. Kuroo was cackling so hard that he couldn't respond. _“Bro!”_

It was almost impressive how quickly the mood was ruined. Almost.

Kuroo wiped tears from the corners of his eyes. _“Yeah, I did. What about it?”_

_“It’s gross!”_

_“Well, you had my dick in your mouth last night and you didn’t say anything about gross then.”_

_“That was different!”_ Bokuto insisted.

_“How was that different?! You had my dick in your mouth!”_

Kenma suddenly couldn’t remember why he liked either of them. “I’m going to hang up on you.”

Bokuto and Kuroo gasped in sync, the same over-dramatic expression mirrored on their faces. Kuroo switched to his Cheshire Cat grin and shoved Bokuto. _“Man, look what you did. You’re gonna make Kenma hang up.”_

Bokuto punched Kuroo in the shoulder in return, pushing him out of the camera— and off the bed, if that _thud_ was anything to go off of. _“How is that my fault?! You’re the one who keeps talking about sucking dick!”_

Kuroo snickered. Kenma sighed.

Bokuto was _loud_ and _excitable_ , and very one-track minded by nature. And despite everything Kenma thought he knew about himself, he found it _endearing_ , and not at all annoying, as he initially expected to.

Kenma suspected it had something to do with Bokuto being the sweetest person on the planet. Before they were together— before _any of them_ were together, he knew that he liked Bokuto more than he liked most people.

He couldn’t ignore the feeling of _excitement_ in his chest when Fukurodani’s practice match finished before Nekoma’s, and Bokuto would cheer them on from the sidelines. Or the distinct feeling of _wanting to do well_ when he noticed that Akaashi was watching as well.

And it drove Kenma _crazy_ because he wasn’t supposed to like _anybody._

 _“You guys are so mean to me,”_ Kuroo complained as Bokuto kissed him, soft and apologetic as compensation for pushing him too hard. He got up and left the frame after that, leaving the responsibility of keeping Kenma entertained to Bokuto.

Bokuto was still shirtless. Kenma’s mind didn’t wander very much.

_“Hey, hey! What if you came over for dinner instead tomorrow? Because then we could get takeout from the Korean place around the corner, and you won’t have to miss your class just to see me.”_

“That works,” Kenma agreed. He would have to get home early enough to keep his mom off his back, but there shouldn’t be an issue. “Or I could- nevermind.”

 _“You could what?”_ Kuroo’s voice asked from offscreen. He must have still been in the room.

Kenma gnawed at his lip, figuring out how to phrase it. “I mean… my mom’s honeymoon. I could stay with you while she’s gone. If you wanted me to,” he added on, because boundaries were important, and he really _would_ understand if they didn’t want him over at their place for that long.

Bokuto tilted his head to the side. _“Why wouldn’t we want you to stay over?”_

 _“Of course we want you here with us,”_ Kuroo reassured. _“It’s not even a question.”_

“Okay.”

Bokuto gasped, his face lighting up. _“Oh my god. That’s like- that’s a whole week of Kenma. It’ll be like a vacation from your house.”_

Kenma shrugged. “It’s not a vacation if I still have to go to class.”

_“Then-”_

_“Nope!”_ Kuroo interjected. _“You skip too much already. You’re gonna flunk out of school if you keep this up.”_

Kenma opened his mouth to respond with something mean and cutting, as he usually did, but his mother took that moment to impose. She walked into his room, only knocking on the doorframe as an afterthought, and Kenma instantly grew exhausted again.

He pulled out an earbud to give her his full attention. She tended to get upset when he didn’t, accusing him of ignoring her, and he was much too tired to deal with that today. “Yes?”

She kicked a discarded shirt out of her way and walked up to his mirror, smoothing down her hair and checking for lipstick in her teeth. “We have a reservation in half an hour, and we lose our table if we’re more than ten minutes late. We’re heading out soon, so I need you to put something nice on.”

Kenma blinked. He had _explicitly_ told himself that he wasn’t getting out of bed again today. “Do I have to be there? I’m tired and I have homework.”

“Obviously. You’re supposed to meet Maeda tonight,” she said. “I’m pretty sure I told you about this.”

Kenma would have remembered if she told him about this in advance. Maeda was her newest fiance, and Kenma had absolutely no desire to meet him. “You didn’t.”

“No, I’m pretty sure I did.” His mother looked at him through her reflection and smiled. “Maybe you just forgot. You don’t pay very much attention when people tell you things, you know.”

“You didn’t tell me,” Kenma insisted.

“Alright,” she began. “Well, I’m sorry you _think_ I didn’t tell you, but that doesn’t change the fact that time is ticking. So get dressed? Please?”

“I really-”

“Kenma.”

He clamped his mouth shut. There was nothing in particular that indicated she was upset with him, but he knew. It was all in the subtext. The way she stood. The way she looked at him. The way she said his name. There was something cold in between the lines of everything she did, and it made him all too aware of himself.

“Sorry,” Kenma responded obediently. “I’ll be ready in five minutes.”

“Thank you,” she said, and then she left, closing the door behind her. Kenma deflated the moment she was gone. He shouldn’t have drank so much coffee this afternoon— he was so exhausted that he wanted to cry, and he was only getting more frustrated with himself by the moment.

_“Kenma?”_

Fuck— _fuck,_ he completely forgot he was on a call.

Kenma looked to his phone to see Kuroo back on the screen, sitting next to Bokuto, the both of them looking concerned. Kenma swallowed down the lump in his throat. “Sorry. I should’ve put it on mute.”

 _“It’s nothing to apologize for,”_ Kuroo reassured him.

Kenma nodded, biting at the inside of his cheek. “I have to- I have to go now.”

_“Okay. We’ll just text you instead, okay?”_

_“And then we’ll see you tomorrow!”_ Bokuto added. _“And then you get to stay with us for an entire week. We can watch all the Star Wars movies together.”_

Kenma nodded again, almost smiling this time. “Not the sequels though.”

 _“Not the sequels,”_ Bokuto agreed, making the correct decision to preserve their relationship. Kenma loved him so, so much, but that could easily be changed for someone who liked the sequel trilogy.

He managed on a half-wrinkled button up shirt and went to meet his mom in the car, not at all looking forward to dinner.

* * *

Kenma slouched in his chair, hiding his hands beneath the table as he messed around with his phone. This was always the worst part of his mother’s relationships. He wasn’t a people person, and he had absolutely no desire to meet her boyfriends. It was only by _sheer luck_ that he managed to avoid Maeda for so long.

And by that, he meant about eight months.

His mother was getting married to someone she met _less than a year ago,_ and he was supposed to be okay with that. He was supposed to pretend like the _entire situation_ wasn’t aggravating, but Kenma was much too exhausted to stay indifferent any longer.

Kenma did not like Maeda.

Maeda was a businessman— _just like everyone else in Tokyo—_ and he seemed very proud of himself for being employed. He had a widow’s peak, and his hair was receding on the sides, and it made him look like Vegeta from Dragon Ball.

Kenma was not looking forward to the wedding this weekend.

**Bo (Wednesday 18:42)**

Is his hair spiky too? or Is it just his hairline???

**Tetsu (Wednesday 18:42)**

why would his hair be spiky?

**Kenma (Wednesday 18:43)**

bc i mentioned dragonball and all full blooded saiyans have spiky hair

**Tetsu (Wednesday 18:45)**

why do you know that

**Kenma (Wednesday 18:46)**

its basic knowledge

**Tetsu (Wednesday 18:47)**

i’m literally begging you to go read a book

Kenma had introduced himself to Maeda when they got to the restaurant— some overpriced Eurasion place that smelled like onions and stale bread. Kenma was polite and made eye contact for _approximately_ half a second before tuning out everything that came afterwards, and _really,_ that was more than enough effort on his part.

Maeda Hisao was temporary. Kenma’s mother may have liked him, but those feelings never lasted for long. Sooner or later, her favor would fizzle out, and their relationship would crash and burn. Kenma would be the only one left to pick up the pieces of his mother’s broken heart. Again.

So rather than pretending that his mom’s third marriage would _miraculously_ be the one to work out for her, Kenma distracted himself from the situation at hand, and preoccupied himself with counting down the minutes until he was allowed to go back home. He had initially unlocked his phone to check up on his dwellers in Fallout Shelter, but then Bokuto and Kuroo had started texting him, and Kenma didn’t have the patience to keep switching between the apps.

He was in the middle of insulting Kuroo when Maeda suddenly attempted to rope him into a conversation.

“So, Kenma, tell me about yourself,” he prompted from across the table. He spoke with a casual confidence, and it was almost impressive how seamlessly he transitioned the conversation topic.

Unfortunately, Kenma didn’t want to speak to him. “I’m not an interesting person.”

“Don’t mind him, darling, he’s just humble by nature,” his mother interjected, as always, quick to speak over him. “Kenma’s a student at Todai. He’s a first year… computer animation major, I think.” She looked to her son for confirmation, taking a moment to smooth his hair down and tuck part of it out of sight. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

Kenma nodded, and Maeda looked interested, all of a sudden. Kenma’s mother looked happy with herself for correctly guessing the major of her only child.

Maeda cleared his throat to call the attention back to himself. “An art student? Do you work with graphic design?”

“Sometimes.” Kenma shrugged and attempted to fix his hair, but his mother was quick to lick at her fingers and smooth it back into place— out of his face and tucked behind his ears, just the way she liked it. 

Maeda ignored her, completely focused on Kenma. “I’m chief of human resources at a marketing firm in Shibuya, and we happen to be looking to get our hands on a new batch of interns. You’re still a first year, so something like this would be incredibly impressive to add to your resume. You should consider submitting a portfolio to us.”

“Wasn’t there a student that commited suicide recently after getting too stressed at an internship?” Kenma’s mother asked, sipping at her wine, as if she hadn’t just veered the conversation down a jarringly morbid road. She looked to her fiance for a reaction, and he looked at her like she had just spoken Korean.

“No, I haven’t heard about that.”

“It was all over the news. You must have missed it,” she hummed. “Anyways, Kenma doesn’t handle stress or new environments very well, so working is completely out of the question.”

“I’m sure the boy knows how to speak for himself. What do you think, Kenma?”

Kenma had grown used to his mother’s wide, expectant look in her eyes, but he froze under the intense gaze from Maeda. He felt like a frayed nerve.

He felt like he was nine years old again. He was stuck deciding between his parents, having to figure out who he was supposed to listen to. His dad would tell him to stay in his room, while his mom would call out to him, asking _oh, so nicely_ if he could _please be on mommy’s side_ for their argument.

And just like before, Kenma knew that his mom was his everything, and that he had no choice but to choose her. “I’m… not that good at design,” he responded.

“Artists are always so humble. I’m sure you’re perfectly fine at it.” Maeda attempted to wave off his concerns, and Kenma hadn’t noticed it until now, but there was something… off about him. His eyes didn’t exactly crease when he smiled.

Kenma continued to turn down his offer, more adamant this time. “And I’m focusing on classes this semester. So I don’t think I’d have much time. Sorry.”

Maeda tutted. “That’s a shame. I would have loved to have you around the office.” He shifted his attention down to his menu, seemingly done with this topic. “You know, my brother and I took over our father’s store after he got sick. We saved up our wages to pay our university’s tuition, so I suppose I’m just overly ambitious.”

“That is so honorable of you,” Kenma’s mom sighed, nodding along to her fiance’s anecdote. She held her glass of wine in hand and waved it in the general direction of her son. “Kenma isn’t very ambitious, but I’m a very understanding mother, so that’s perfectly fine with me. It’s just a shame he never lets me see his art.”

“I don’t really show it to anyone,” Kenma justified. His mother glanced sharply at him, and he bristled, all of the annoyances of today finally bubbling up inside of him.

“I’m sure you let Tetsurou-kun see it.”

“I don’t.”

Maeda looked at him. “Tetsurou-kun?”

“His friend-”

“My boyfriend,” Kenma corrected. “Tetsurou is my boyfriend, and we’ve been together since high school.”

His mother’s smile thinned out into a line. She reached out for his shoulder and patted it condescendingly, silently telling him to stop talking. “Yes, well, that’s a bit complicated.” She cleared her throat. “The Kuroo family is an older couple, and their grandson, Tetsurou-kun, grew up right next door to us. The two of them are _very close,_ you see. Much closer than _one might care to admit_ in the middle of a lovely dinner like this one.”

The conversation went quiet after that. Maeda waved down the waitress and ordered for Kenma’s mother and himself— some steak pasta dish that was recommended to them earlier. The waitress looked over to Kenma, about to ask what he would be having, but his mother spoke up for him before the question even left the girl’s mouth.

“He’ll have the chopped salad.”

* * *

Upon entering the apartment, Kenma and Kuroo had questions.

It was one thing to walk in on something intimate— that was bound to happen every now and then, and no one really complained whenever it did. It was another thing _entirely_ to walk in on Akaashi thrown over Bokuto’s shoulder, grimacing and looking much too exhausted of his predicament, while Bokuto seemed none the wiser.

Kenma sighed. “You know what… I don’t even want to know.”

Akaashi was bracing himself on Bokuto’s back, a hand on the nearby wall to ensure that he wouldn’t be falling anytime soon. “Koutarou, _please_ put me down,” he insisted. His expression relaxed immensely as Bokuto complied with his request, helping him down and back to his feet.

Bokuto thrusted his thumb in Akaashi’s direction. “Keiji said I couldn’t pick him up,” he explained, grinning widely at Kuroo and Kenma.

“No, I did not.” Akaashi shot him a sharp glance. “I told you that you _shouldn’t_ pick me up. You said _why not,_ and did it anyway.”

There was never a dull moment when all four of them were together, and somehow, Kenma felt like he should have seen this coming. He stifled a snort behind his hand. Kuroo leaned down and pulled at his wrist, silently telling him to stop hiding. His lips pressed against Kenma’s for a soft moment, and then he hummed contentedly, pulling away to take their school bags and hang them on the coat hooks in the genkan.

Several minutes— several rounds of _welcome back_ kisses later— and Kenma had successfully wormed his way out of the entrance hall, and into the kitchen.

He sat on the counter, legs hanging over the ledge as he picked at his carton of japchae. Bokuto had promised Korean food last night, and while Kenma had always been a picky eater, it was a lot easier to help expand his palate when he was away from home.

Kuroo stood next to him at the counter. Being a great boyfriend, he pretended not to notice when Kenma reached over to steal bits of his bulgogi. Bokuto sat backwards in one of the kitchen chairs, and Akaashi had disappeared into their bedroom after inhaling his food in record time. Kenma didn’t think much of it until he reemerged a few minutes later, dressed for work. That caught his attention.

“You’re working today?”

“I am, unfortunately,” Akaashi sighed in response, guilt and disappointment minutely reflected on his face. “Two of the keyholders called out sick this morning, and I’m the only one dependable enough to pick up a closing shift at the last moment.”

Kenma nodded and poked at his food with his chopsticks. Kuroo nudged at him, questioning, and Kenma shrugged him off. “Stop looking at me like that. It’s not a big deal.”

“Are you sure?”

Oh, Akaashi _absolutely_ did not believe him. Kenma really needed to work on his lying skills— or alternatively, he could just stop trying to lie to his boyfriends all the time.

“Not a big deal,” he repeated. “I’m seeing you again in like, two days.”

Akaashi crossed the kitchen to stand at Kenma’s other side. He rested a hand on his thigh, steady and comforting as always. Sitting up on the counter, Kenma was actually taller than his boyfriends for once. He made a mental note to sit up there more often.

“You’re still allowed to be disappointed. I may not look like it, but I’ve never resented my coworkers more than I do at this moment,” Akaashi admitted, and just next to him, Kuroo snickered. Akaashi looked unamused. “Yes, Tetsurou?”

He waved his chopsticks flippantly. “Nothing, nothing. That just, uh, sounds like something a sociopath would say before going off to bury a body.”

“I was going to kiss you goodbye, but it seems I’ve suddenly changed my mind.”

“Oh, c’mon. Keiji, baby, don’t be like that.”

“Don’t be a pain in the ass, then.” Akaashi rolled his eyes, and Kenma was close enough to see the clear lack of irritation behind the gesture. This was just how they communicated. Akaashi would call Kuroo annoying, Kuroo would call Akaashi a sociopath— and more often than not, they’d end up making out afterwards.

It was their primary love language, strangely enough.

Kenma watched them go back and forth for a while, until Akaashi remembered that he was on a strict timetable for work. He kissed Kenma, he kissed Bokuto, and then he looked at Kuroo— and walked right past him.

Kuroo gasped and stalked after him, leaving Kenma and Bokuto behind in the kitchen. Kenma looked over to see how far away they were, and caught a glimpse of Kuroo harassing Akaashi in the genkan.

“Is Keiji working himself too hard?”

“Hm? I dom’t fink sho,” Bokuto responded, his mouth full to the brim with bokkeumbap. It must have been a rough workout day, because he was eating like this was his last meal on Earth. He swallowed his food and Kenma allowed himself to stop cringing. “He’s kinda stressed out with school and, y’know, his parents, but he’s taking care of himself. Why? You worried about him?”

“Just wondering. Worrying is Tetsu’s job.” Kenma was probably overthinking things again. Bokuto knew more about Akaashi’s bad habits than anyone else, so if he wasn’t worried, then Kenma didn’t have any reason to be either.

Bokuto laughed warmly, and Kenma let it melt into his skin like sunlight. Kuroo was notoriously the most overbearing when someone was sick, and was second only to Bokuto when it came to sheer clinginess. “That doesn’t mean you can’t worry too. Like, when I had to get my stomach pumped after eating too much teppanyaki— you were worried, right?”

Kenma cringed again. “I’m trying to eat. You’re not supposed to bring that up while I’m eating.”

“C’mooooon, I _specifically_ remember you being _super_ worried about me.”

“I wasn’t,” Kenma lied. “I just didn’t think you were stupid enough to accept a dare from Tsukishima.”

Kuroo sauntered back into the kitchen, satisfied and slightly off-balance. His lips were flushed and pink, his tongue occasionally darting out to taste at what Kenma could only assume was Akaashi’s coconut chapstick. “What’cha lovebirds talking about?”

“That one time Tsukki made me puke my guts up at the hospital,” Bokuto said, sounding much too proud about it. “Oh yeah, and Kenma misses Keiji lots, but doesn’t want to admit it. It’s super cute.”

Kenma scrunched up his face, glaring at him. “Fucking traitor.”

“Oh, really?” Kuroo leaned over, into Kenma’s personal space, and Kenma jabbed his foot at him as best he could at the strange angle. “So mean! And to think, I was gonna tell you about the _strangest coincidence.”_

Bokuto perked up. “Oooh, tell me! Tell me!”

“Nothing but the best for my best bro,” Kuroo responded, over-dramatic and theatric as always. “Well. I _just happen_ to know that Keiji’s taking the weekend off from work, and that Kenma _just happens_ to be staying with us around the same time.”

“Man, what a coincidence.”

“So coincidental.”

“The coincidental-ist.”

Kenma was mere moments away from killing one of them. “Oh my god. _Shut up,”_ he snapped.

Kuroo snickered and looked at him, reading Kenma like a book. “You’re excited, aren’t you?”

“Never.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I’m not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not.”

* * *

It was a dress. It was a dress, it was a dress, it was a dress, it was-

It was a collared dress, and if Kenma pretended hard enough, he could almost convince himself that he had stolen one of Bokuto’s button ups. Technically, there wasn’t much of a difference. He was just wearing an oversized dress shirt— one that cinched in close around his stomach, and was specifically cut to make his shoulders appear less broad.

Kenma wasn’t very broad to begin with. But neither was Akaashi, so that was okay.

“Everything alright in there, Pudding?”

“I’m okay.” Kenma’s voice was weak. He took in a deep breath, forcing the air into his lungs, and repeated the response. “I’m okay. I’m just- I’m working on it.”

Kenma was in one of his mother’s reserved hotel rooms, getting ready for her long awaited third wedding. He hadn’t fully closed the door behind him, instead leaving it propped open so he could talk with Kuroo every now and then.

It was okay. He was okay. It was okay, it was okay, it was-

_“Oh...”_

Kenma’s first mistake was looking in the mirror. His second was not looking away while he still had the chance. Reflections were _unrelenting._ They were harsh and truthful, only in the way inanimate objects could be, and _really,_ if it weren’t for the two toned hair, Kenma would have thought he was looking at a picture of himself from junior high.

It was okay for Akaashi to be thin, and it was okay for Hinata to be short. But the same couldn’t be said for Kenma. It was all wrong on him. He looked grotesque, strange like something out of the Uncanny Valley, and everything was just so fucking _wrong._

Kenma cleared his throat in an attempt to open his windpipe back up. “How mad would you be if I jumped out the window?”

“I’m gonna pretend like I didn’t hear that.”

Kenma tried to manage a laugh, but his breath came out in little more than a pathetic wheeze. “Kuro, I can’t really- I can’t breathe well.” His throat was growing tighter by the second, and it was getting increasingly difficult to hold his grip on reality. There was a searing _itch_ under his skin, and he wanted nothing more than to scratch away at himself until there was nothing left for him to look at. Nothing left to perceive.

“Okay, that’s okay.” Kuroo spoke calmly, as if Kenma’s throat wasn’t currently turning itself to stone and preparing to strangle him to death. “Let me come in, yeah?”

“Please.”

Kuroo was inside before the word had even left Kenma’s mouth, pulling him away from the mirror and wrapping him up tightly in his arms. “You’re okay, Kenma. Everything’s okay,” Kuroo repeated, and Kenma almost let himself believe it. He worked his tight lungs, forcing them to follow along with Kuroo’s breathing, and eventually, they released and relaxed.

Kenma was okay. Kuroo was with him, and that meant he was okay.

“Baby, I was just- _Oh!”_

Kenma pulled back from Kuroo in an instant. Of course, his mother always knew the worst times to walk in. It was like she had a sixth sense, someone whispering in her ear to tell her exactly when Kenma _just wasn’t in the mood._

She was clad in her white gown, nails perfectly manicured, and her hair in a bun at the nape of her neck, adorned with pearls and false diamonds. “Tetsurou-kun, what a surprise. I didn’t know you were in here.”

Kuroo straightened out his suit jacket and bowed politely. “It’s always lovely to see you again, Maeda-san. You look beautiful as usual.”

Kenma’s mother waved Kuroo off, smiling kindly. It was a pleasant shift from the tight lipped grimace she had flashed her son just moments ago. “You’ve always been such a charmer. I won’t be _Maeda-san_ for at least another hour, if all goes according to plan.”

Oh, if she kept saying things like that, Kenma was going to get his hopes up.

“Baby, come here for a moment, will you?” His mother asked, and Kenma mournfully complied. She took him by the shoulders and positioned him to face the floor length mirror he had just escaped from.

Kuroo took a sharp breath in. In the reflection, Kenma could see the tension in his shoulders, as if he were waiting for things to take a turn for the worst.

Kenma felt his soul threaten to leave his body as his mother adjusted the skirt of his dress and smoothed down his hair, nitpicking at his appearance as always. She brushed his hair out of his face, but this time, she secured his bangs behind his ears with sparkly silver barrettes.

“There. Now, don’t you just look _lovely.”_

Kenma bristled, forcing his attention away from his reflection. He didn’t want to look at himself. He was in junior high again, and he didn’t want to be seen. He didn’t want Kuroo to see him like this.

Kenma’s mother smiled, looking expectantly at Kuroo. “Doesn’t she look lovely?”

_“Mom.”_

“Sorry, sorry, you know I can’t help it. You never let me play dress up with you anymore.” His mother kissed him on the temple and laughed, the sound sweet and innocuous, and entirely too lighthearted for the energy in the room.

* * *

Kenma wondered if his mom would care if he jumped out a window. It definitely wasn’t the healthiest of thoughts to follow, but it had been at the forefront of his mind all day and there were _a lot_ of windows in the venue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) kuroo is a good bro and an even better boyfriend. he's also a BRAT and a MENACE and that is absolutely canon  
> 2) everyone in this ship is a switch and you can pry that from my cold dead hands  
> 3) pls pls pls comment and tell me whatevers on ur mind i read and respond to all comments


	4. There's Fennel For You, And Columbines

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fuck yeah!! i managed to get this out before new years!!!  
> my hopeless romantic really jumped out while writing this so uh,,, i may have gotten a bit carried in some parts. please accept this chapter as my love letter to akaashi and bokuken

Kenma closed his laptop and stared down at his hands.

His brain was working in overdrive again. He couldn’t handle the  _ stress _ and  _ discomfort _ of his mother’s wedding, so it did what was necessary and dissociated to keep him from having another panic attack. But Kenma’s brain was an overachiever and a problem child. He had known both of these facts since he was young, reinforced by sensory overload and overwhelmed tears in the middle of his classes.

The wedding was over. The hair clips were in the trash, and the dress was in the bottom of Kenma’s overnight bag, never to be seen again. He was at the safest place he could imagine— Kuroo and Bokuto and Akaashi’s apartment— but despite all of that, his head was still all over the place. He couldn’t even recognize his own hands.

Kenma’s hands weren’t soft. They were covered in calluses, serving as a constant reminder of the time and effort he put in as Nekoma’s starting setter, and distantly, he knew that he would miss them when they faded away. He had small palms and long fingers, and pale skin and thin wrists. His nails had been filed short and rounded out nicely by Akaashi, who had been tired of Kenma’s nail biting habit from the first moment he witnessed it. These were definitely Kenma’s hands. They couldn’t belong to anyone else but him.

Bokuto stared at him from the other end of the couch, wide-eyed and worried. “You didn’t hear me,” he moped.

“Hm?” Kenma’s eyes kept unfocusing, making it difficult to pay attention to anything for long. He blinked a few times, forcing his eyesight to hold steady, and his boyfriend appeared clear and crisp in front of him.

“I asked if you were okay and you didn’t say anything. Are you okay?”

“Brain’s weird,” he mumbled in response. His tongue felt stale and heavy in his mouth.

Bokuto nodded like he understood, the tension in his expression releasing. “You were just kinda sitting there all zoned out and I got worried ‘cause you weren’t saying anything, and I just wanted to check,” he explained quickly, his words running together. “Shit. Sorry. I can leave if I’m talking too much.”

“You’re fine.”

“Okay… do you need anything?”

Bokuto was the epitome of comfort and safety. Kenma reached his arms out, and Bokuto didn’t hesitate to comply with the silent request. He moved the laptop out of the way and picked Kenma up, letting him wrap up and cling to him like a koala bear. Bokuto smelled like hair gel and sweat, in the best possible way.

Kenma was a quiet person by nature, so he had never been very vocal about his relationships. He liked to keep things to himself. It was just one of those  _ Kenma Things, _ like how he liked to wear socks around the house, but refused to sleep in them. Kenma was  _ quiet _ and Bokuto was  _ loud, _ and people were always surprised to hear they were together.

Just because they were  _ different  _ didn’t mean they were  _ incompatible. _ Kenma knew how to get excited, and Bokuto was more than capable of toning things down when he needed to— which was why they had been dating for nearly a year now.

The television’s volume was turned down to keep from grating on Kenma’s nerves, but beside that, the apartment was quiet. “Kuroo’s not here,” he complained. Three words. That was an improvement, and the most he had said in a while.

“Oh, yeah, remember? He went to pick up Keiji so he wouldn’t have to ride the train back from work.”

Kenma did not remember. But he kept that to himself. Most of today’s memories were hazy and fractured, and he didn’t have much of an issue with that.

Bokuto stood up from the couch, Kenma securely supported in his arms. “Actually, they should be home pretty soon. You wanna be my co-chef and help me warm up dinner?”

“I won’t be much help.”

“That’s okay, it’s for the best. You’d probably burn the whole building down if you tried.”

Kenma snorted. He could turn on a rice cooker and read the instructions on frozen meals, but that was about it. On the other hand, Bokuto had an inexplicable talent of never knowing what he was doing in the kitchen, and always managing to make something that tasted unfairly good.

Bokuto set him down on the counter and Kenma rubbed at his eyes, trying to clear away the last of his strange headspace. Bokuto kissed him softly on the forehead and grabbed the skillet from the dish dryer. He tossed in the first things he found; some leftover teriyaki chicken, a bag of mixed vegetables, and what looked like frozen rice noodles. Kenma’s stomach didn’t flip at the sight of it. It smelled good and probably tasted even better, and-

And it was no wonder he was so disgusting, with the way he was so shamelessly drooling over food that wasn’t even his.

The thought came out of nowhere and plummeted Kenma’s mood, sinking a familiar nausea back into the pit of his stomach. He had the option to stay home. He had the option to keep to himself and hide away where no one would be around to pressure him at mealtimes or look at him strangely for eating a handful of crackers and calling that lunch.

Kenma picked at the frayed hem of his t-shirt. He stared down at his legs and despised the way his thighs splayed out when he sat down. “I might… go home early. Instead of staying the week.”

Bokuto frowned and looked at him with pinched eyebrows. “Did you leave something at home?”

Kenma shook his head. “I don’t want to bring you guys down,” he admitted. He was turning nineteen soon and he couldn’t even eat properly. He was too messed up to take care of himself, and too pathetic to stay isolated and keep his problems to himself.

“You won’t! And you know I’m telling the truth, ‘cause I’m a terrible liar,” Bokuto reassured. He  _ was _ notoriously bad at lying. “I love you. I love that you get to be here with us, and so do Tetsu and Keiji. We want you here more than anything— more than  _ breathing,  _ you know.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“Yeah, maybe a little. But I’m still telling the truth!” Bokuto crossed his arms with the spatula still in hand, smearing sauce on the sleeve of his shirt. “No one’s forcing you to do anything, Kenma. If you wanna stay, then stay.”

It was always difficult to remember, but Kenma was in control of his own life. He didn’t have to bend over backwards to convenience others, and he didn’t have to feel guilty for taking up space. He was allowed to just  _ exist  _ sometimes, and that was more than enough. He was allowed to enjoy things.

There was the sound of keys in the lock, followed by the familiar rattle of the front door. It was slightly too large for its frame and always needed some prompting to work properly, which was fine, because apparently the rent was cheap as compensation.

“We’re back!” Kuroo called out, causing both Bokuto and Kenma to perk up.

“We’re in the kitchen!”

Kuroo strolled in, still clad in his suit from the wedding. Kenma vaguely remembered something about him refusing to change since he was just going to leave home again. He also remembered it sounding dumb, because as nice as Kuroo looked in suits, he liked to dress comfortably just as much as Kenma did.

“Missed you.” Bokuto squished Kuroo’s cheeks together and kissed him, his touch as appraising and tender as always. “Kenma helped me make dinner.”

“I didn’t.”

“He was moral support,” Bokuto corrected.

Kenma rolled his eyes and hopped down from the counter as Kuroo broke away to grab plates from the cabinet. He shuffled out of the kitchen. Akaashi was still in the genkan, one hand braced against the wall as he worked off his shoes.

“You look tired,” Kenma pointed out.

Akaashi sighed heavily. “I feel tired.” He moved slowly, in the same way he did when he was exhausted and about to fall asleep on his feet. “You may have to do movie night without me. I think I’ll be going to sleep early, if that’s alright.”

“Did you pull another all-nighter?”

Akaashi winced slightly at the question. “Not exactly,” he said. “I just… didn’t sleep very well.”

Bokuto and Kuroo finished up in the kitchen, and they all ate dinner in the living room. Kenma picked at the vegetables on his plate— since he preferred those more than anything— and Kuroo enabled him by giving up the carrots and broccoli from his own meal. Bokuto had the remote and flicked through channels to find something to watch, but Kenma didn’t notice what he decided on. He was too busy analyzing Akaashi, trying to gauge what was wrong with him.

It was obvious that  _ something  _ was wrong. Kenma realized that he didn’t just look tired, he looked  _ drained—  _ and there really wasn’t much that could set him in a mood like that.

Akaashi stared down at his food and paused mid-bite. “I want to throw up,” he admitted, setting his chopsticks down and grimacing like he was in pain.

“But you’re not going to,” Kuroo assured, and it wasn’t a question.

Akaashi took a breath in. “I’m not going to,” he repeated.

“Mhm,” Bokuto continued. “Because you don’t have to hurt yourself just ‘cause you feel bad.”

Akaashi was always messing with his hands—  _ it was just one of those Akaashi Things—  _ but right now, he was picking and scratching at the skin around his nails. Kenma made eye contact with him, and Akaashi dropped his gaze.

“I, um…” Akaashi started, and Bokuto pulled his hands apart to keep him from hurting himself. “I had a relapse last night.”

Oh. That explained things.

“Are you okay?” Kenma asked, because he had a lot of things going through his head, but he was worried about his boyfriend first and foremost. Akaashi had been doing really well lately, and as far as Kenma knew, he hadn’t relapsed in months.

“It just  _ happened. _ I spent my dinner break studying, and I was hungry when I got home. No one was around, and I just… overdid it. I wasn’t even thinking.” Akaashi looked ashamed, like he had been beating himself up for this all day. “Koutarou heard me in the bathroom,” he admitted. “I’ve been through this enough times, I feel like I should know better by now.”

“Shit happens.” Kenma really hated seeing him like this, all anxious and distraught. “It happens to me all the time, so stop being so hard on yourself.”

Akaashi was  _ pathologically _ hard on himself, and it really wasn’t his fault. He grew up in a stifling environment, and it was hard to break habits when they were all you knew for most of your life. Kuroo reached out to comfort him, but Akaashi shook his head and stood up instead.

“I’m sorry, I just need a moment. I’ll be back.”

Bokuto sat up in his seat as Akaashi started for their room.  _ “Keiji?” _ Both bedrooms in the apartment had their own bathrooms, and that was concerning, considering that Akaashi had a purging disorder and was disappearing in the middle of a meal.

“I’ll leave the doors open,” Akaashi promised. “I’m not going to do anything bad.”

It wasn’t that they didn’t trust him. It was that eating disorders made people sneaky, and it was always better to be safe than sorry.

Akaashi was understandably upset over his relapse, but that didn’t change the fact that he was doing  _ so much better _ than he was a year ago— back when he fainted during a practice match between their schools, and Kenma was so inconsolable that Yamamoto had to call Kuroo to calm him down.

And speaking of Kuroo— they had spent the entire day together, and he didn’t think to mention any of this?

Kuroo chewed at his lip and grimaced as Kenma glared at him. “I wanted to say something. I really did,” he tried to explain.

“But you didn’t.”

“He asked us not to. I didn’t want to make today any worse for you, and— I don’t know— I’m sorry. I hate lying to you. I just want to fix everything for everyone.” Kuroo sounded genuinely apologetic, and Kenma made up his mind to forgive him rather quickly.

Kenma didn’t want to admit it, but knowing that Akaashi relapsed would have weighed heavily on him all day, and he really didn’t need anything to push him into an even deeper spiral. The wedding was bad enough without anything else to stress him out.

He wanted to lecture Kuroo and tell him how dumb he was for letting this weigh him down all day, but he was much too tired to string that many words together. So, instead, he settled for a simple  _ “thank you.” _

Kuroo looked surprised. “You’re not mad?”

“Not really,” Kenma said. “But do this again and I’ll kill you.”

Akaashi reappeared in the living room, now wearing Bokuto’s most comfortable hoodie and what looked like a pair of Kuroo’s pajama pants. Kuroo tugged him over and let him curl up against him.

* * *

_ “You were supposed to call me after your practice was over. You’re gone all week and I’m stuck at home— absolutely worried out of my mind— and you can’t even be bothered to call to tell me you’re okay?” _

“I  _ forgot,”  _ Kenma had insisted, fiddling with the sleeve of his Nekoma track jacket as he tried to calm his mother down. He had been on the phone for what felt like hours, and she was too upset to listen to a single thing he was saying. He wanted the conversation to be over already.

_ “Sometimes it feels like you don’t even care about me. I have feelings too, you know.” _

“I know. I’m sorry.” He had broken away from the rest of the training camp to call her, finding an isolated hallway so he could apologize without anyone around to overhear. “I won’t do it again,” he promised. His heart twisted at the way his mother sobbed into the receiver, and he felt terrible for causing this much trouble.

_ “You could have been dead for all I knew,” _ she cried.  _ “You should be lucky if I don’t drive over and drag you back home, with the way you’ve been acting lately.” _

Kenma cringed and shook his head, his breath catching in his throat. “Please don’t.” His mother hated it when he was away from home. She was overbearing and suffocating, but only because she worried about him so much. “I can call in the mornings too,” he offered, hoping that it would be enough for her to forgive him.

_ “As soon as you wake up.” _ Her voice was stern and unrelenting.  _ “You call me as soon as you wake up. If you forget again, I promise this is the last training camp you’ll be going to.” _

“I won’t forget.”

“Good.” Kenma’s mother cleared her throat, and all traces of her bad mood were instantly abandoned. “I love you so, so much, okay? I know mommy can be a lot sometimes, but it’s only because she loves you too much.”

Kenma wiped at his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket. “I love you too,” he responded, his voice stiff and watery. His mother ended the call after that, but rather than feeling relieved, Kenma was more overwhelmed than ever.

His hands were unsteady as he attempted to work himself down. He felt the slight tremble in his fingers as he scrubbed at his face and willed the frustrated tears to stop. His mother wasn’t upset with him anymore— that fact alone should have been enough to calm him down, but he  _ just couldn’t understand _ why she had been so mad in the first place. He didn’t think he had done anything wrong recently, let alone anything that gave her a reason to react like that.

But despite everything, Kenma made a mental note to be more careful. He had caused his mother more than enough trouble this past year, with all the work that came with changing his name, and appealing to the high school to let him wear the correct uniform and join the boys volleyball team. The last thing he wanted was to seem ungrateful for everything she did for him.

Kenma sniffled one last time and wiped his face. Kuroo was going to get worried if he was gone for too long, so he steeled his emotions and started back down the hall. He used the flashlight of his cellphone to illuminate his path as he walked. It was still light out when he wandered away from the rest of Nekoma’s team, but the hallways had turned dark and unsettling since then, not unlike the setting of a horror movie— or rather, a horror game, since Kenma had been playing a lot of those lately.

He could have easily been the protagonist, making his way around the abandoned school to collect the lost notes, or something like that. He would turn a corner and the demon would appear at the end of the hall to jump scare him, and Kenma would have to hide in a classroom until the cooldown timer ran out.

It was just a mindless thought— and then a door in front of him opened, and Kenma’s heart leapt into his throat. He thanked his quick reflexes for catching his phone before it clattered to the ground.

Fukurodani’s first year setter, Akaashi Keiji noticed Kenma and froze like a deer caught in headlights. There were at least three bathrooms closer to where his team was staying, but here he was, leaving an isolated one with red-rimmed eyes. Kenma felt bad for the guy. He obviously wasn’t expecting anyone to be in this part of the building.

Kenma had never spoken to Akaashi without being prompted to do so. They had never been around each other without being dragged into a group, and right now, neither of them were entirely sure of what to do.

“I-” Akaashi winced at the sound of his voice coming out haggard and broken. He cleared his throat before speaking again. “I should get back. Bokuto-san is probably looking for me.”

“Same…” Kenma stared at the ground, letting his unbleached hair fall into his face. “I mean, Kuroo’s waiting for me. So… yeah…”

It was awkward— probably the most awkward moment of Kenma’s life— but neither of them had any better ideas, so they silently committed to the horror of their situation and began walking back to their rooms together.

It wasn’t that Kenma had anything against Akaashi. Kenma just wasn’t a people person, and he preferred not to talk very much. Kuroo was the only exception to that rule, and even then, he was on thin ice most of the time.

But despite never saying much to him, Kenma  _ kind of _ knew Akaashi, due to the sheer amount of times he had been exposed to him and Fukurodani’s ace. It was weird for him to be silent like this. Akaashi seemed more like the type to make trivial conversation for the sake of politeness, but Kenma couldn’t tell if he was acting out of character because he so desperately wanted out from this situation, or because his throat was still bothering him. Probably both, if he had to guess.

They walked past a drink vending machine illuminating the hallway, and Kenma broke off to buy a box of milk. Akaashi was polite enough to wait for his return, but blinked in confusion as Kenma offered the milk to him. “You were puking,” Kenma said in explanation, his words as blunt as ever.

Akaashi tensed up, and Kenma could clearly see the panic filtering through his demeanor. “I wasn’t.”

“Okay…” This really wasn’t any of Kenma’s business. He had no reason to argue over what Akaashi was or wasn’t doing. “Milk neutralizes stomach acid though,” he continued. “It’ll keep you from messing up your teeth.”

Akaashi’s expression refused to relax, even as he hesitantly accepted Kenma’s offering. He took a small sip and swished the milk around in his mouth before swallowing. “Was I that obvious?” He asked quietly, his voice already sounding less painful.

Kenma shrugged. It wasn’t exactly hard to put the pieces together. “You’re weird about food and Bokuto can never find you after dinner.” He had a feeling that Akaashi had noticed his  _ subpar  _ eating habits as well, with the way Kuroo would quietly nag Kenma at mealtimes, and Akaashi would very pointedly avoid eye contact with either of them.

Akaashi scowled down at the ground, his lips pressed tightly together.

“It’s none of my business, so it’s not like I’ll tell anyone,” Kenma added, because he was starting to feel bad for pointing it out so harshly.

“Thank you, Kozume-san.”

“Kenma,” he corrected. He had gone through all the trouble of changing his name, so he might as well be called by it.

Akaashi nodded. “Kenma-san,” he settled on. He looked much less defensive than he was earlier. “I didn’t ask before, but did something happen? You look like you've been crying.”

“I wasn’t.”

Akaashi’s lips twitched up at the corners. “It seems we’re both terrible at lying under pressure. I hardly think it’s fair that I have to tell the truth, and you don’t.” He had eyes that looked like he was perpetually analyzing you, and combined with the smirk, it was like he knew something that Kenma didn’t.

“I was talking to my mom,” he admitted, because it wasn’t like anything he said would be worse than getting outed for making himself puke. Akaashi waited patiently for him to continue explaining. “I forgot to call her today, so she’s threatening to pick me up early.”

“That sounds exhausting.”

“Yeah… it’s only sometimes though.”

Akaashi fidgeted with his hands for a moment. “My mother… actually, she called to ask me to go to the store for her this morning. She didn’t realize I had been gone for half of the week.”

Kenma looked up, unbelieving. “You’re serious?” Akaashi looked serious. “That’s fucked up.”

Akaashi laughed stiffly. “It really is.”

The two of them parted ways as they made it back to the occupied parts of the building. Kenma re-entered Nekoma’s room, and Kuroo didn’t hesitate to break away from his conversation with Nobuyuki. He looked over Kenma for any signs of distress and asked how the conversation with his mother went.

Kenma shrugged. “Fine.” He wasn’t upset anymore, so he didn’t see any reason to talk about it. “Unrelated, but I’m kind of friends with Akaashi now.”

“Wait, what?”

* * *

Kenma savored the taste of Akaashi’s mouth against his; unchapped lips soft and pliant and impossibly warm. His hands were at Akaashi’s jaw, holding him in place as they sighed into each other’s mouths. Their teeth clacked together, and Kenma couldn’t find it in himself to care. He just pulled back for a slightly different angle and dove back in.

Akaashi breathed heavily and squirmed under the attention. “Kenma,” he breathed out, his voice low and broken, and Kenma took the opportunity to lick back into his mouth.

He had been jealous at first, all those years ago when Kuroo tried to introduce him to Bokuto and Akaashi. Kenma refused to acknowledge them, convincing himself that he didn’t like them. He felt betrayed, as if Kuroo was branching out and leaving him behind— but he got over it, and they grew on him, and now Kenma had all three of them.

He didn’t know how  _ much  _ he wanted to be loved, or how  _ desperate  _ he was to be cherished and accepted wholeheartedly. He didn’t know how much he wanted it until it was in the palm of his hand. It still scared him sometimes— how much he had changed in only a few years— but then he would remember  _ them, _ and forget everything that wasn’t  _ Koutarou  _ and  _ Tetsurou  _ and  _ Keiji. _

“Kenma,” Akaashi tried again, and Bokuto pressed up behind him and sucked a bruise just under his pulse point. Kenma snaked a hand into his hair, pulling at the short curls to give Bokuto better access. “I-  _ hah- _ I have homework.” Akaashi’s voice was weak and lacking any of his usual petulance.

“I don’t care,” Kenma responded.

Kuroo laid shirtless at the foot of the bed, his head pillowed on his arms. Kenma wanted to bite his shoulder blades. “Just do it later. We’re relaxing right now, if you haven’t noticed.”

Bokuto pulled off from Akaashi’s neck to agree, and Kenma sank his teeth into a mark he left behind, deciding it was too pale for his liking. Akaashi groaned. He panted harshly and arched into the touch.

“I-”

Kuroo cut him off before he could get another excuse out. “There’s no use arguing with us, Keiji. We already decided on spoiling you today,” he said, and  _ technically _ that was only half-true. They had  _ actually _ decided to laze around and do nothing all day, but Akaashi had gone off schedule as soon as he woke up this morning— choosing to get a headstart on his linguistics research essay instead of sleeping in.

It was rare that all of them could get together like this and have nowhere to be, but if Akaashi was incapable of hitting his brain’s off switch, then Kenma and Bokuto would do the  _ gentlemanly thing to do, _ and hit it for him.

Kenma liked days like these more than actual dates. There was nothing important to do, nothing to think about, and-

Wait, shit, he had homework too.

Kenma grumbled and pulled back, suddenly annoyed. Akaashi whined at the loss of Kenma’s mouth sliding against his own, and attempted to chase after him—  _ holy shit—  _ and Kenma pecked him on the lips one last time before pushing off from the bed. “I have a figure drawing assignment.”

“You have to do it now?” Bokuto asked, pouting at Kenma with his long silver eyelashes and gorgeous eyes.

“I’ll forget if I don’t.”

Akaashi groaned, and Kenma couldn’t tell if it was due to frustration or due to the way Bokuto had slipped his hands under his shirt to smooth circles into his sides. “How come Kenma’s allowed to be productive, and I’m not?”

Bokuto laughed. “Because we say so!”

“Yep.” Kuroo sat up and ran a hand through Akaashi’s hair, grinning widely at the way he melted into the touch. “Nice try, workaholic, but we’ve got you outnumbered.”

“This hardly feels fair,” Akaashi sighed.

Kenma retrieved his sketchbook from his school bag and sat cross-legged at the foot of the bed. He couldn’t take his eyes away as Akaashi dropped his head back onto Bokuto’s shoulder, his breath stuttering as Kuroo nipped at his collarbones. “I’m using you for anatomy reference,” he said, making that up on the spot. “So take your shirts off or something.”

Bokuto quickly complied. Kenma regretted nothing— not even as Kuroo raised a smug eyebrow at him, seeing through his  _ less than educational _ motive. Bokuto tossed his shirt to the floor, and then he was on Akaashi again, soft lips on his face and warm hands on his hips. “You wanna take yours off too?” He asked.

“Do you want me to?”

_ “Keijiiii,” _ Bokuto whined critically. “You know that’s not what I asked.”

“Nothing wrong with keeping it on. You look gorgeous no matter what.” Kuroo kissed lightly at the corners of Akaashi’s lips, breaking away before he could turn the gentle touches heated and rough with desperation.

Akaashi scowled at him, his pupils blown and dilated. “You’re being insufferable today.”

“Actually, I think it’s pronounced  _ romantic.” _

“I think the word you’re looking for is annoying,” Kenma offered, rolling his eyes.

He finished his work in record time, sloppy sketches of Bokuto’s arms and Akaashi’s hands littering the pages of his sketchbook. And then Kenma was back in. Back to their lazy day, and back to their task of kissing and biting and licking at Akaashi until he was sobbing out their names in broken syllables, and finally worn out enough to relax.

* * *

**Tetsu (Tuesday 12:02)**

guys look how pretty my boyfriend is

Kuroo sent a photo of Akaashi into their group chat, and Kenma was  _ faintly _ jealous that their lunch breaks lined up so nicely. He was just  _ slightly _ bitter that he had forty more minutes of Japanese literature before he got to see Kuroo again, the two of them meeting up for a grand total of  _ five minutes _ before having to go their separate ways.

But then he opened the image of Akaashi with his glasses on, idly biting the end of his pen as he focused on an assignment— and Kenma’s complaints died as quickly as they lived.

**Bo (Tuesday 12:04)**

OOH!!! So pretty I’m jealous!! <3<3<3

I wanna sit with akaashi too ( •́ ‸ •̀ )

**Kenma (Tuesday 12:05)**

aren’t you in class right now

**Bo (Tuesday 12:05)**

maybe……

**Tetsu (Tuesday 12:06)**

fdjksfd shit he’s looking at his phone

Kuroo sent another picture; this one of Akaashi with his cellphone in hand, frowning and staring at Kuroo with piercing eyes.

**Tetsu (Tuesday 12:07)**

he’s blushing

**Keiji (Tuesday 12:08)**

I am not

Delete that.

**Tetsu (Tuesday 12:08)**

make me ;)

**Kenma (Tuesday 12:10)**

why are you texting when you’re right in front of each other

**Tetsu (Tuesday 12:11)**

why are you texting in class

oya? unless??

did you miss talking to us that much?

**Kenma (Tuesday 12:11)**

no

**Bo (Tuesday 12:12)**

Oya Oya? (´⊙v⊙`)！

You miss us???

**Kenma (Tuesday 12:13)**

no i saw you this morning

**Bo (Tuesday 12:15)**

That doesn’t mean anything!!!

**Tetsu (Tuesday 12:16)**

kenma just say you miss us

its pretty obvious

we’re kinda amazing ;D

**Kenma (Tuesday 12:18)**

i’m turning my phone off

* * *

Kenma disliked a lot of things. He was just that type of person; very opinionated, and only capable of loving things wholeheartedly or despising them altogether. It was a trait that he shared with Bokuto, strangely enough.

But where Bokuto was  _ vibrant _ and  _ expressive, _ Kenma closed that side of himself off, only to be accessed by a handful of people. He was much more comfortable staying quiet and kept to himself, feigning ambivalence as if it were an armor.

And he had always been that way.

As a child, Kenma’s armor came in the form of repetition. He wore the same drab green hoodie to bed each night, and if he stayed home with a cold, he spent the day replaying Portal until Kuroo came back from school. It was calming. It was safe. He could easily distance himself into the familiarity, content to ignore the sound of his parents arguing down the hall, and the anxiety that came with it.

“Hey… you’re breathing really heavy again,” Kuroo pointed out one morning, as Kenma left home to meet him at the mailboxes in front of their houses. They were in junior high at that point, and Kenma’s hands were fidgety and trembling, pulling at his uniform sleeves and the strap to his school bag.

Kuroo’s expression quickly narrowed into worry.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Kenma snapped, out of breath. “I’m fine.”

“You’re obviously not,” Kuroo said, and he was absolutely correct. Kenma was  _ not _ fine. He was freaking out over something dumb— and,  _ of course,  _ he knew it was dumb— but the realization did nothing to ease the tight, uncomfortable strain in his lungs.

Kenma’s mother was a strange and inconsistent person. One day, she would gush over how  _ small _ the waist of his seifuku was, and the next, Kenma was drinking a green smoothie for dinner because they  _ both needed to get in shape. _ It made his head spin. Pork was  _ oily _ and  _ only for people who let themselves get fat, _ but despite that, Kenma’s mother neatly packed three gyoza into his bento for the day, much to his horror.

Lunch break was hours away. School hadn’t even started yet— but the  _ idea  _ of eating something as  _ rotten  _ and  _ gross  _ as pork made Kenma want to vomit.

“Can we just go already? I don’t feel like being here anymore.”

Kuroo nodded, only hesitating for a brief moment before taking Kenma’s hand and dragging him next door, into his own house. He didn’t give Kenma the chance to take off his shoes in the genkan, instead pulling him directly into the living room.

Kenma sat down on the couch. He had always liked this couch—  _ he took in a shuddering breath— _ it was old, and soft, with little faded flowers printed onto the fabric. Kenma’s life had changed a lot over the past few years, unrecognizable without his father playing a part in it—  _ he wanted to cry—  _ but at least Kuroo’s couch was still the same.

Kuroo sat down next to him, hesitating again. “Can I hug you?”

“Do you want to?”

“I want to. I really, really want to,” Kuroo said. He pulled Kenma in tight, and all Kenma could do was melt into the comfort and blink away his burning tears.

Everything was just…  _ so much. _ Everything was  _ overwhelming. _

_ “It’s just so exhausting,” _ Kenma’s mother had ranted over the phone, not even ten minutes ago. Kenma overheard her after he tried to refuse his bento; after she brushed him off, calling him spoiled for wanting to waste perfectly good food.  _ “I don’t know why I thought I was cut out for this. Honestly. In an ideal world, I’d be living in a one bedroom in Shibuya. One of the nice ones with a home office and everything…” _

Kenma sniffled wetly, shaking like a leaf in Kuroo’s arms.

“I’m not letting go of you until it kills me,” Kuroo reassured, and that was good, because Kenma felt like he would shatter to pieces if he ever did.

And true to his word, Kuroo held him until he calmed down. He spoke to him slowly, his familiar voice cutting through the haze of Kenma’s thoughts, guiding and grounding him back to reality.

Kenma wiped his nose on the back of his hand and pulled away to look at Kuroo properly. “You really have a calming voice sometimes,” he quietly admitted.

Kuroo blinked, his eyes sparkling. “I do?”

Kenma knew that look. It meant that he was filing something away for his ego, likely to be used against Kenma in the near future. “It’s hardly a compliment,” he amended. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

“I hope you know what you’ve just done.” Kuroo grinned, and Kenma suddenly regretted saying anything. “I’m never gonna stop talking. I’m gonna talk after I’m dead and in the grave, and I’m gonna haunt you, because  _ you like my voice-” _

Kenma pushed away from him and rolled his eyes. “I said  _ sometimes.” _

* * *

Kenma was tucked away in bed, exactly where he belonged when the weather turned cold and gloomy. He always got too cold too fast— and took too long to warm back up— so he had been spending more time curled up in Kuroo’s room, thanks to the chilly autumn air.

He swiped his thumb across his phone, his player character leaping to the right to dodge an incoming enemy. Kuroo walked into the room, and Kenma didn’t even need to look up to know that something was off about him. “What’s wrong?”

“Just thinking about some stuff.” Kuroo slumped onto the bed, and Kenma glanced away from his game to check on him.

“Don’t hurt yourself.”

Kuroo exhaled in a short laugh, shifting closer to watch him play. It was an endless runner that Kenma had downloaded recently. There was nothing particularly special about it, but he liked the character designs and it was a simple way to kill time, especially when he didn’t want to pay attention in his classes.

Kuroo waited until he died before speaking up. “Can I say something?”

Kenma clicked off his phone, offering his full attention.

Kuroo took a breath. “Okay, so hear me out,” he started. “I think you should move in with us.” This wasn’t the first time he had tried to have this conversation. He asked every now and then, and Kenma always gave him the same answer.

“I can’t.”

“You don’t have to answer right now, or even anytime soon, but please just think about it. Like,  _ really _ think about it.”

“I  _ can’t,”  _ Kenma insisted, because it just wasn’t a possibility. Moving out would break his mother’s heart and he wasn’t sure if she could ever forgive him for that. “I’m fine at home, so stop asking already.”

Kuroo hesitated, running a hand through his hair as he grasped for the words to say. “You’re just…  _ happier  _ here. Your mom hardly lets you out of her sight, and she won’t even let you get a job.”

That was for the best though. Kenma wouldn’t have been able to manage the stress. “I didn’t want one anyways.”

“She’s terrible to you.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“You don’t believe that,” Kuroo protested. He suddenly looked less stressed out and more… sad than anything. “Kenma, you can’t  _ seriously _ believe that. I mean, you don’t even eat when she’s around.”

Kenma wanted to say something, but he couldn’t manage the words. He couldn’t stand the way Kuroo was  _ looking  _ at him, couldn’t tell if he wanted to  _ yell _ or  _ cry, _ couldn’t manage the  _ fucking words _ for anything productive— so he turned over in bed and faced the other way, like a child.

“I’m going to sleep,” Kenma eventually said, ending the conversation in its tracks.

Kuroo made a distressed sound in the back of his throat. “Can we please just talk about this? Kenma,  _ please.” _

He didn’t say anything. He just unlocked his phone and got back to his game, only feeling a  _ little bit _ bad when Kuroo sighed in exasperated defeat.

“Alright.” Kuroo turned the light off and got into bed. “I’m sorry for saying anything.” The situation was never as simple as he made it out to be, because  _ it just didn’t matter _ how much Kenma thought about moving out. That wasn’t the issue.

It was his mother, and the way she had felt betrayed when he spent the weekend in Miyagi with Hinata last year. It was the way she had asked if he was  _ purposefully trying to hurt her  _ when he tried applying to universities outside of Tokyo. He couldn’t imagine how she would react if he left home for good, and he really didn’t want to think about it becoming a reality.

But if Kenma felt bad when Kuroo left for class earlier than usual the next morning, then he felt  _ absolutely terrible _ when he walked into the kitchen to find Bokuto pushing his breakfast around, downcast and unexcited.

“Hey,” Kenma greeted, and he could only hum in response. It wasn’t a surprise that Bokuto had too much empathy for his own good. He was the most sensitive— never able to see any of them upset for long, and only becoming more of a kicked puppy when he was no help in cheering them up.

This was his fault. Kenma kicked a puppy, and the puppy was his boyfriend.

Bokuto groaned and poked at his food. “Can you and Tetsu make up soon? I don’t know how mad you were, but he’s real sorry for what he said, so you should just forgive him already.”

Akaashi was always quick to berate Bokuto for oversimplifying things. It was a habit left over from their time on their high school team, but he didn’t say anything— which said a lot.

Kenma knew that he was being petty. He knew that he had no real basis for acting like an asshole, but up until now, at least he could  _ pretend _ like he was irritated enough to justify it. 

He was never  _ really  _ mad at Kuroo. Kenma was more defensive than anything, which was actually worse, now that he thought about it. Being defensive and being  _ aware _ of it meant that Kuroo didn’t do anything wrong—  _ and he didn’t. _ Kenma was just being cruel, pushing him away because he didn’t like what he was saying.

* * *

Kenma winced as his stomach ached, empty and annoyed that he hadn’t bought anything while he was still on campus. He had been working on eating more regularly lately, so he supposed this was a good thing— that his body was working properly and telling him to stop skipping meals.

He was determined to make something for himself before he got too comfortable. He tugged off his binder as soon as he got back to the apartment, and then he was in the kitchen, pouring a miso packet into a coffee cup and filling it with tap water.

He was terrible at taking care of himself, and he knew that. But it would be a while until anyone else was done for the day, so it seemed that microwaved instant soup was the best he could manage. It was much faster than boiling water and it took about the same amount of effort.

Kenma grabbed his mug from the microwave, setting it down before the hot ceramic had a chance to burn his fingers. His phone buzzed. He hoped that Kuroo was calling him. Kenma had some things he wanted to get off his chest, since they hadn’t  _ actually _ spoken since last night— but it was probably Bokuto, calling to tell Kenma about his day after getting released from practice early.

He pulled his phone out from his back pocket and froze, blinking at the caller ID. It wasn’t any of his boyfriends. Rather than that, it was his dad calling him for the first time in months.

_ “Kenma.” _ His dad’s voice was clear over the receiver, and Kenma instantly noticed the unease in his tone.  _ “I, uh… how have you been? How’s university?” _

“Did something happen…?”

_ “No! No, no, nothing happened. Everything’s fine.” _

That helped to ease some of Kenma’s anxiety, but now he was more confused than anything. His birthday wasn’t for weeks and there were no holidays in sight. Even when he had graduated from Nekoma in the spring, his dad didn’t call him until a few days after the ceremony.

He continued,  _ “I just- you know how I’ve been in Nagoya for a while?” _

“Six years,” Kenma pointed out. He tried his mug again and it was cool enough to carry into the living room without hurting himself.

_ “Almost seven,” _ his dad corrected.  _ “I’m actually… well, I’ll be in Tokyo next weekend. I’ll be in the city, and I’d like to see you if that’s possible.” _ It had been seven years since he started over in Nagoya, and even longer since Kenma had seen him in person. And of all the things he expected to come from this odd conversation, the  _ opportunity to see his dad again _ hadn’t been  _ anywhere  _ near the top of the list.

Kenma must have gone quiet, taking too long to respond— because then his dad was rambling, doubt and uncertainty back in his voice.  _ “It’s alright if you can’t. Or even if you don’t want to, because I completely understand. I really do. I know I haven’t been the best about these things, and-” _

“Okay.”

_ “You’re sure?” _

“Yeah.” His hands felt sweaty. “It could be fun.”

_ “Alright then.” _ His dad exhaled, anxiety melting away from him in a relieved sigh. Kenma wished the same could have been said for him.  _ “I’m really happy to hear that from you.” _

He listened as his dad proposed meeting up for coffee, and through some miraculous feat of willpower, he managed to make it through the rest of the phone call without cracking. He was excited. He  _ honestly  _ was, but the feeling was mixing uncomfortably with his nerves.

Kenma pulled his legs up onto the couch and rested his forehead against his knees. He took fixed breaths to compose himself. He just needed to calm down and he’d be fine.

“Hey.”

Kenma stirred awake, blinking absentmindedly and confused. He must have dozed off at some point. He rubbed at his eyes, trying to wake himself up from his unforeseen nap— and when he opened them, Kuroo was there.

He looked like he had just gotten back. His jacket was still on and his school bag was still slung over his shoulder. He stood in front of the couch, holding Kenma’s miserable cold mug of soup. “I’m warming this back up for you, okay?”

Kenma groaned noncommittally. “I don’t even want it.”

“You wouldn’t have made it if you didn’t want it,” he responded, heading into the kitchen. He was probably right about that.

Kenma stretched his legs out from their uncomfortable position and as he worked to get his blood flowing again, he figured he couldn’t have been asleep for very long. He checked his phone and saw that it had been just under an hour since his dad called him.

The microwave beeped. Kuroo came back with the soup, as well as some hastily made onigiri to go with it. And after all the stress of today— after the phone call with his dad and the guilt of everything that happened this morning— Kenma  _ really _ wanted to cry. He had been terrible to Kuroo and despite that, here he was, still trying to take care of Kenma when he honestly didn’t deserve it.

Kenma dropped his face into his hands. “I like it better here,” he admitted, swallowing down the lumpy feeling in his throat. He forced himself to continue before he had a chance to give up and bottle his feelings away again. “You don’t… make me feel bad… or like I’m doing anything wrong. I like being here. And I know it's terrible, but I don’t really want to go back home.”

The couch dipped beside him. Kenma refused to budge as Kuroo tried to coax his hands away.

_ “Sweetheart.” _

Kenma sniffled wetly, shaking his head. “Don’t look at me,” he tried, because he didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve Kuroo or his big heart or the way he was  _ incapable _ of holding a grudge against Kenma, even when he had been distant and terrible to him.

“I’m allowed to look at you sometimes,” Kuroo reminded him. “I like seeing your face.”

“My face is a mess.”

“Don’t care. I love you anyways.” Kuroo pulled at his hands again and this time, Kenma didn’t fight it. He knew that he looked gross— all snotty and blotchy and red— but Kuroo’s hands were warm on his cheeks, his thumbs wiping at tears as quickly as they were falling. “You’re crying,” he pointed out.

“I’m  _ not,” _ Kenma insisted, despite the fact that he obviously was.

“You are, and that’s fine. You’re my crybaby.”

Kenma’s bottom lip trembled and his tears began to fall faster. Kuroo pulled him into a crushing hug. Kenma was always so pathetic like this, and he could never understand how Kuroo didn’t mind.

“You’re so fucking stupid,” he muttered into Kuroo’s soon-to-be-soaked shirt. “I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) can you tell how much i love these characters? because i really feel like you can tell  
> 2) not me being four chapters deep and finally describing their fucking apartment. if i described it no i didn’t yes i did <3  
> 3) i used to put cup noodles in the microwave instead of just boiling some water so if you wanna roast me for that, go ahead, i honestly deserve it


	5. There's Rue For You (Part One)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we have a surprise guest star in this chapter!! it’s my first time writing him so i hope you enjoy and i hope i didn’t do too terrible of a job!!!

Kenma was not a morning person. And from the way he staggered out from his room and into the bathroom across the hall, it didn’t seem like he ever would be. It was a miracle that he even managed to drag himself out of bed.

He had stayed up late again, this time working on essay questions; and this time, joined by Bokuto’s presence on the phone with him. Bokuto had taken a nap after practice and had too much energy to go back to sleep, so he called Kenma to keep him entertained while he worked. Kenma was on his fourth paragraph about the importance of calligraphy and ink wash painting when they finally decided to go to sleep.

Kenma yawned and secured his bed head out of his face with a hair tie. His phone vibrated on the bathroom counter. Before he could even  _ think _ about reacting, his mother darted out from her bedroom. She grabbed his phone from where he had left it, and all Kenma could do was blink as he processed what had just happened.

“Can I have my phone back?”

“It’s not a big deal,” his mother huffed, in lieu of an actual response. She leaned against the doorframe and scrolled through his phone like it belonged to her. “You shouldn’t be worried unless you have something to hide from me. Is there anything you want to tell me?”

Kenma shook his head. His mother hummed curiously, and he felt his stomach drop. “What?”

“Nothing, nothing. I just thought you said you were meeting up with Tetsurou-kun today.”

“I am,” Kenma responded. He was getting coffee with his dad before class, and he was dragging Kuroo along with him for the sake of his sanity— or what would be left of it by the time they got there.

His mother hummed again. “That’s interesting, because  _ right here  _ it says that you’re seeing your father.” She flicked up from Kenma’s phone to meet his eyes in the mirror. “I haven’t heard anything involving him until now.”

Kenma was taller than his mother by a few centimeters, but he felt small and unnerved under her gaze. He was frozen to the spot. Ice shot through his veins and hardened solid in his throat.

“I’m doing both,” he quietly admitted. “Can I have my phone back?”

She waved him off with her free hand. “Not yet. You lied to me, so now I have to make sure you aren’t hiding anything else.”

“I didn’t lie. I said I’m doing both today.”

“Well, you failed to mention-” Kenma’s phone vibrated again and his mother looked at the screen, slightly confused. “Keiji says good morning. Who’s Keiji?”

Kenma wasn’t awake enough for this. “Kuroo’s roommate,” he lied.

She nodded and scrolled through his phone again, looking over what Kenma could only assume were their texts. “You two seem to be on familiar terms. You’re that close with his roommates?”

“I’m over a lot.”

“Well, if you’re such good friends with this  _ Keiji-kun, _ then why haven’t I heard about him before?”

Kenma wanted to scream. But instead of doing so, his words came out  _ cold  _ and  _ quiet  _ and  _ clipped. _ “Because I don’t have to tell you everything about my life,” he hissed.

Kenma disliked a lot of things, and anytime he had to refer to Akaashi and Bokuto as nothing more than  _ Kuroo’s roommates— _ that was number one on the list. It always left a terrible taste in his mouth. It wasn’t fair that Kuroo was the only one allowed to be an  _ official boyfriend, _ just like it wasn’t fair that Kenma was an adult, and his mother was still checking his texts for things she didn’t like.

He was awake now. His eyes were tired in his reflection, but he was awake as he looked back at his mother. “I’d like my phone back now, please.”

Kenma’s mother handed it back and turned on her heel, disappearing back down the hall without another word. She was upset with him. It was obvious. Kenma would have to deal with that later, but for right now, he had to finish getting ready.

* * *

The train pulled up at the station, and Kenma rushed to get off before he got pushed around by the morning commuters. Travelling during rush hour was always the worst. He separated himself from the crowd of business people and high school students, breaking off to meet Kuroo by the vending machines.

Kenma’s mother was ignoring him again. She didn’t go silent very often, but it always left a sinking feeling in his chest whenever she did. She refused to look at him. He tried to tell her goodbye before leaving, and she acted like he didn’t even exist.

Kenma didn’t think he was that upset over the situation— but then he saw Kuroo standing there with his hands in his pockets, and he was consumed by the overwhelming urge to be comforted.

“Woah! Hey there, perfect.” Kuroo stumbled backward as Kenma rushed over to hug him. “What’s going on?”

Kenma buried his face into Kuroo’s chest. “She’s giving me the silent treatment,” he complained, despite the fact that it had only been a couple of hours. This was nothing compared to the week of silence after Kenma came out to her as transgender, but it still hurt in a painfully similar way.

“That’s extremely childish of her,” Kuroo sighed. He ran a soothing hand through Kenma’s hair, and Kenma melted into the contact.

“I feel bad. I said some stuff to her, and-”

“Don’t.” Kuroo tilted Kenma’s head up to look at his face. “She does this stuff on purpose, because she  _ wants _ you to feel bad. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Kenma was rude to his mother. That was more than enough reason for him to be punished like this. “But you can’t say that for sure,” he insisted. “You don’t even know what happened.”

Kuroo pulled him along, starting toward the exit of the train station. “Alright. Then you can fill me in while we walk. I’ll tell you what I think and we’ll see if you did anything wrong.”

It wasn’t a long walk to the coffee shop, but it gave Kenma more than enough time to recap the events of that morning. Venting to Kuroo had always helped to lift the guilt and bad feelings off from his shoulders, and while the same could be said for Akaashi and Bokuto, Kuroo was the only one who actually  _ knew _ Kenma’s mother. He had grown up right next door to her and her ever-changing family.

Kuroo paused in his tracks on the sidewalk. “Wait… you’re telling me she’s upset because you’re talking to your dad again?”

Kenma didn’t think it was that surprising. “I guess so.” He shrugged. “Then Keiji texted and she started going through our chat history. And— I don’t know— I kind of snapped at her for that.”

“Which was justified,” Kuroo stated.

“Not really.”

Kuroo crossed his arms and looked at Kenma. “I’m an unbiased party, and I’m here to remind you that you’re allowed to have boundaries,” he said. “You’re allowed to be pissed that your mom invaded your privacy.”

Kenma turned away and continued walking. He didn’t really want to talk about this anymore. “It’s not that bad. I’ll just start deleting texts again. It’s not a big deal.”

“Sweetheart, you’re an adult. Can’t you just-”

“I think this is the place,” Kenma interrupted as they approached the coffee shop. It was on the street corner, and through one of the windows, he could make out his father already inside and sitting at a table. “You can lecture me later, okay? I just… I need you on my side for this.”

Kuroo sighed and opened the door for Kenma. “I’m always on your side. You’re just worth too much to be this negative about yourself.”

Kenma drank a lot of coffee and bought food pretty often, but he had never been to this specific cafe before. It smelled like pumpkin spice and cinnamon coffee beans. It was comforting, in a strange way. He and Kuroo ordered their drinks and waited patiently for the barista to prepare them.

Kenma shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and fidgeted uncomfortably.

The woman behind the counter handed off their coffees with a rehearsed smile, and Kuroo thanked her as he took them both in hand. He nudged Kenma to get his attention. “You still want to do this?”

“Shut up. Of course I do.”

Kenma’s dad looked much older than he remembered. His hair was turning silver, his glasses were thicker than before, and he had crow’s feet sitting at the corners of his eyes. It had been a long seven years, but despite all of that, Kenma still recognized him easily.

His dad may not have changed very much, but Kenma was completely different. He was blonde, he was transitioning— hell, his name wasn’t even the same thing it was seven years ago. His dad was going to take one look at him and realize that getting back into contact was a mistake. Kenma was too different, too awkward, too ugly—

He suddenly wanted to be back home, safe and locked away in his bedroom.

His father noticed them walking over. He stood up from his seat to greet them, and Kuroo made the quick decision to speak up, saving Kenma from his impending anxiety.

“Sorry for intruding. I’m not sure if you remember me, but I used to be that annoying kid that lived next door to Kenma here. Just a lot taller, and a bit less awkward now,” Kuroo said, and Kenma’s dad smiled widely and warmly. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Kozume-san.”

“Of course I remember you, Kuroo-kun. I’m happy to hear that you’ve stayed close after all this time.”

“We’re dating,” Kenma blurted out. Kuroo choked on his latte, and Kenma took a moment to make sure he wasn’t going to die before turning back to his father, waiting for a reaction.

Coming out hadn’t been on his list of plans for the day, but Kenma figured he might as well determine where his dad stood on the concept before he put in the effort to get to know him again. He expected the worst. Tears and harmful words, and a complete refusal to acknowledge what he said, like what had happened with his mother. But to Kenma’s surprise, his dad just nodded.

“I’m happy you told me.” He didn’t question it when Kenma changed his name, and Kenma wasn’t sure why he expected anything different today. “I’m happy for you both. I always figured it would happen someday, with all the time you spent together growing up.”

“You aren’t upset?”

“Why would I be…” Kenma’s dad sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Your mother got upset when you told her, didn’t she?”

Kenma shrugged. “She got used to it over time,” he muttered, mostly into his coffee cup. Technically, he never  _ told _ her that he and Kuroo were together. She took his phone one night and found out on her own. Kenma made a habit of deleting his messages after that, which seemed to be for the best, because she still had minimal information on Bokuto and Akaashi.

“So, Kozume-san, what brings you back to Tokyo?” Kuroo asked, and Kenma had never been more thankful for him. He was good at talking. He kept their conversation from falling into an awkward silence, because he knew exactly how to keep a discussion alive after a topic ran its course.

“Well, my son lives here, first of all.” His dad laughed, and it was only then that Kenma realized how much he missed him. He missed the sound of his voice, and the way he always knew how to cheer Kenma up after a bad day at school. “Also, my old company is shutting down soon. I’ve gotten a lot of new offers in the city, and I’ve been meaning to come back for some time now. One of them’s actually for a game development studio-”

“Which one?” Kenma interrupted, looking up from his drink.

Kuroo snickered. “You seem interested all of a sudden.”

“Fubuki Media,” his dad answered. “I’m… going to take a guess, and say you’re still into gaming.”

“That’s an understatement,” Kuroo said, and Kenma kicked him underneath the table. “Weren’t they the ones who released those games earlier this year?”

That wasn’t the most helpful description, but Kenma knew exactly what he meant. “We played the demo for the fantasy stealth one,” he filled in.

“So you’ve heard of them.” His dad looked impressed with the two of them. “Actually… if I get the position, I’m sure I can find a way to get you a copy of the full release.”

Kenma’s eyes widened. “You don’t have to do that for me.”

“I want to. I know I’ve been a terrible father— far from the one you deserve, but I don’t plan on making that mistake again.” He took a breath to calm his nerves before continuing, “You were the only good thing to come out of my relationship with your mother. I’ve been gone for a long time, and there’s no way to make up for that, but I hope that you’ll let me be a part of your life again.”

Kenma fidgeted with the paper sleeve on his cup. His dad didn’t care about how much he changed, or the fact that he was transgender, or the fact that he was dating his childhood best friend. All he wanted was to get to know Kenma again, and he was willing to put in the work to do so.

“I think I’d like that,” Kenma decided.

“Thank you. I can’t begin to say how happy I am to hear that from you.” His father wiped relieved tears from his eyes, catching them before they had a chance to fully form. He must have been anxious about today— maybe even more anxious than Kenma, if that was even possible.

Kenma liked his father a lot. And for the first time in nearly seven years, he was certain that his father liked him too.

* * *

Sometimes, the only thing on Kenma’s mind was food. Sometimes, all he wanted to do was pop open his mother’s rice cooker, pull over a chair, and fill his stomach up to the brim. There was a long list of shitty side effects for dieting like Kenma did, but the cravings had to be the shittiest. He could deal with lightheadedness any day. Sheer human instinct, on the other hand, was a lot harder to ignore.

But at this point in his life, Kenma knew that he didn’t have to binge just because he hadn’t eaten in a while. All he had to do was drink some water and remember that he was in control of what he put into his body.

Sometimes, though, Kenma forgot what control was.

**Kenma (Monday 14:04)**

i can’t remember if you like sour candy or not

i bought too much and i can’t eat it and i’m gonna feel bad if i throw it all away

**Keiji (Monday 14:05)**

I don’t mind it, but sour candy is more Tetsurou’s taste

**Kenma (Monday 14:05)**

i already gave him some

**Keiji (Monday 14:06)**

How much did you buy?

**Kenma (Monday 14:07)**

like four bags

It was a lapse in judgement.

Kenma was an idiot for going to the convenience store while he was hungry. Actually— well, he was always  _ kind of  _ hungry, but he should have known better than to go shopping while he was craving something.

**Kenma (Monday 14:07)**

i don’t even like candy i don’t know why i bought so much

**Keiji (Monday 14:09)**

That’s not true. You just like it in moderation.

You bought too much of something. It was a simple mistake

**Kenma (Monday 14:10)**

i’m supposed to have better control over myself

**Keiji (Monday 14:13)**

You’re not supposed to do anything other than exist

Koutarou actually wants me to go to his therapy appointment with him today

He thinks it might be good for me to talk about things rather than just internalizing everything

**Kenma (Monday 14:14)**

you talk about things with us

**Keiji (Monday 14:15)**

I do, but a professional might be helpful as well

Would you ever try it out?

Bokuto had been in therapy for a while now. He had decided to get help with managing his mood swings, and now when he crashed, it wasn’t nearly as bad as it had been when they were in high school. Kenma was happy for him. He really was, but personally, he would rather die than sit in front of a stranger and talk about why he didn’t eat.

**Kenma (Monday 14:16)**

i don’t talk to people i don’t know

**Keiji (Monday 14:17)**

Koutarou would go with you if you asked him to.

**Kenma (Monday 14:19)**

i’m good

**Keiji (Monday 14:20)**

Alright

**Keiji (Monday 14:28)**

I just worry about you a lot

* * *

Kenma had always spent a lot of time in his room. He liked the  _ quiet _ and the  _ privacy _ that came with being alone in his own space. He liked being able to let his guard down and stop pretending like everything was alright, because most of the time, things weren’t. His mother had just gone two days without as much as a look in his direction, and now that she had apologized for  _ having to treat him that way,  _ he was supposed to move on with his day as if nothing had been wrong in the first place.

It was fucked up. Kenma could say that confidently. It was so obvious how fucked up it was, but for some reason, he was the only one at home who felt that way.

Maeda hadn’t  _ technically _ moved in following the wedding, but nowadays, he stayed over more often than he stayed at his own home. When he heard about what happened, he suggested that Kenma stopped purposefully annoying his mother, despite the fact that Kenma had absolutely not asked for his opinion.

Kenma clicked off his phone as he noticed footsteps coming his way. His mother had a bad habit of never knocking, and she hated locked doors in her home, so he had learned from a young age to listen out for wherever she was in the house. It kept him from getting caught off guard when she barged into his room out of nowhere.

He was unsurprised when his mother pushed his door open. She hadn’t bothered to change after work, still wearing her suit jacket and pencil skirt. Kenma was her polar opposite in that regard— as soon as he got home, he had to be out of his jeans and back into sweats before he even let himself breathe.

“Dinner’s almost ready, so we’re going to need you downstairs pretty soon.” She didn’t bother to come inside the room, and Kenma was glad for it, because she couldn’t see the way he grimaced at her announcement.

“I’m not hungry.”

She rolled her eyes and absentmindedly adjusted the cuffs of her jacket. “I’m really not in the mood to deal with this today, Kenma. If you’re going to be a part of this family, then I need you to act like it,” she stated, leaving no room for argument. “You wanted a job so badly— here you go. Your job is to make Maeda feel as welcome as possible, and the ability to come downstairs and eat meals as a family is on the list of required skills.”

His mother was still annoyed with him for going to see his dad, so Kenma really didn’t need to push his luck any further. He swallowed down the tightness in his throat and nodded.

“Good,” his mother praised, smiling one of her rare, genuine smiles. She was happy with him. Kenma should have felt something positive for receiving his mom’s approval again, but he merely felt like a sellout.

He followed her downstairs and over dinner, Maeda discussed one of the students his department had recently chosen for their internship. Her name was Igarashi, and she nearly had an anxiety attack on her first day with the company. Kenma didn’t really care enough to listen any further— he was too busy picking his sushi apart with his chopsticks, separating the tuna from the rest of the rolls, and pushing them to opposite sides of his plate.

His mother scoffed petulantly when she noticed him. “Aren’t you a bit too old to be playing with your food?”

Kenma dropped his chopsticks, suddenly embarrassed. “Sorry.” He tended to mess around with whatever was left over on his plate after he was done eating, and his mother had always loathed the habit. He balled up his hands and pressed them into his lap.

“It’s really not a big deal,” Maeda placated, attempting to reassure Kenma. He set down his own chopsticks. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you eat a full meal. You don’t have much of an appetite, do you?”

Kenma stared down at the table and shook his head. “I don’t get very hungry,” he responded, desperately hoping that his eating habits weren’t about to become the next conversation topic. Thankfully, though, his mother was quick to turn the discussion back to herself, leaving Kenma to get through the rest of the meal without much issue.

* * *

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

Hinata put on his most stern expression and crossed his arms over his chest. “Okay, so that’s a lie,” he started. Karasuno was in town for some practice matches with Nekoma, and on privilege of being co-captain, Hinata was allowed to sneak away to meet up with Kenma for a bit. “You’re quiet today. Which is saying a lot, since you’re always quiet. But today’s quiet is like…  _ super quiet.” _

Kenma wasn’t okay. He just wasn’t about to tell that to Hinata.

Maeda seemed to be everywhere at home now, always showing up whenever Kenma made the mistake of leaving his room. Just this morning, he caught Kenma coming upstairs and went on a tangent about diet culture in girls, and how Kenma’s habit of picking apart his food was just a rite of passage into adulthood. Kenma interrupted to remind Maeda that he  _ wasn’t a girl, _ but Maeda didn’t seem to care.

_ “You could have fooled me,” _ he had laughed. The humor in the situation was lost on Kenma.  _ “You looked pretty convincing as one at the wedding.” _

Kenma wiped clammy hands off on his jeans and shoved them back into the pockets of his coat. He was with Hinata for the first time in months, and he didn’t plan on bringing him down with petty concerns and anxieties.

They were loitering at a park near the train station, and once Kenma lied and told Hinata that he was just tired from pulling another all-nighter, he let the issue rest. 

“You’re going to turn into a zombie if you don’t start sleeping more.”

Kenma laughed quietly and found that it was getting hard for him to catch his breath. “I’m not going to turn into a zombie,” he said. “But if I did, would you shoot me?”

Hinata paused and thought about it for a while. “Probably not. I’d feel too bad, so I think I’d just let you bite me, and then we could be zombies together. Kageyama would probably try to shoot me once I turned, though, so we’d have to bite him too to stay safe.”

Hinata was loud and the concept of stealth was foreign to him. Kenma played enough survival games to figure out what to do in a zombie apocalypse, but he hated any kind of physical activity. The two of them figured that they would end up as zombies rather quickly. But on the off chance that Hinata turned first, Kenma promised to keep his friends from shooting him.

It was a purely hypothetical conversation— just something to get Kenma’s mind off of things. It didn’t change anything or make him feel any better in the long run. He still hated it at home. He hated the way his mother forced him into meals, and the way Maeda would make comments while he ate. Kenma  _ hated  _ it. He hated it so, so much, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

Kenma rubbed at his eyes, and his hand came away wet with tears. He swallowed dryly and attempted to clear his throat, but his lungs burned from the exertion.

Oh. He was about to have a panic attack, wasn’t he?

“I need to sit down,” Kenma gasped out, catching Hinata’s worried attention. He needed to get himself under control  _ immediately. _ He was binding today and he was starting to hyperventilate, and he was going to stop breathing altogether. He was going to pass out and die on the sidewalk. Kenma really didn’t want to die, or die in front of Hinata, or—

_ Fuck, _ he really needed to calm down.

Hinata was quick to help him over to a nearby bench, where Kenma nearly collapsed as he sat down. “I can’t remember if you like being touched or not.” Kenma nodded, and then there was a comforting hand rubbing circles into the space between his shoulder blades. “Do you want to call someone? I think I still have Bokuto-san’s number in my phone.”

Kenma shook his head. He gripped his knees tightly as he worked on breathing deeply enough to get the oxygen to his brain. “I just need a minute.” He was going to be fine. He had been through enough of these before to know that he was going to be fine.

“You’re sure?”

Kenma nodded again. “Yeah. Sorry for getting all worked up all of a sudden.”

“Kenmaaaa,” Hinata pouted, whining like a child. “This really isn’t anything to apologize for. Sometimes stuff happens, and… and…”

“And?”

“Sorry! Shit, sorry, I just saw a cat and completely forgot what I was about to say.”

Kenma looked up, hot tears still running down his face. “Where is it?”

Hinata pointed over to the bushes nearby, and Kenma could clearly see a fluffy calico kitten sitting in the grass and minding its own business. It had white paws and golden eyes, and was cute enough to momentarily distract Kenma from his own panic. 

Hinata quickly unwrapped his bento, breaking off a piece of chicken katsu. “Do you think it’s hungry?”

“Please don’t feed it that.”

“What? Why not?”

Kenma was never allowed to have any pets, but he knew enough about animals to keep them away from human food. “All that oil’s going to make it sick,” he explained.

Hinata understood. He bit into the fried meat, ripping off a piece of unseasoned chicken breast. “What about now? Is this any better?” Kenma hummed in affirmative, and Hinata nearly jumped out of his skin in excitement. He crouched down close to the ground and held out his hand to catch the kitten’s attention.

The calico kitten noticed him. It watched him with wide eyes as it hesitantly walked toward them. Hinata waited until it was close enough to pet, and then he turned to Kenma and handed the chicken over to him.

“Here,” he offered. “You do it.”

Kenma hesitated. “You want me to?”

“Totally. You like cats way more than I do.”

Kenma crouched down next to Hinata and held out the chicken for the calico kitten to take. Its nose twitched as it sniffed Kenma’s hand. It took the piece of chicken in its tiny mouth, turned away from Kenma and Hinata, and trotted out of sight.

Hinata waved goodbye to it before looking back to Kenma and searching him for any signs of distress. “Are you feeling any better?”

“Yeah, I’m good now.” Kenma took a breath and revelled in his ability to properly fill his lungs. With his panic attack left in the past, he and Hinata figured it was time to stop loitering and go find something else to do.

As they left the park, Kenma noticed their new friend with its mother— a pristine white stray. She eyed him coldly as they passed. It felt familiar.

* * *

Kenma filled his glass with water from the kitchen tap. He was home alone for the first time in weeks and naturally, he spent his day drawing in the living room, rather than doing the exact same thing up in his bedroom. The change of scenery was nice.

He hadn’t realized how much his mother and Maeda had been bothering him until today— when dinner time came around, and Kenma nearly finished his plate. It wasn’t a surprise that having a meal without constant ridicule was a lot better for his anxiety, but he hadn’t expected such a stark contrast.

Kenma sighed in disappointment as he heard the sound of the front door opening. He thought his mother was spending the night at wherever Maeda lived, but he must have been wrong. His mother stumbled out of the entrance hall without bothering to take her heels off. She grabbed onto the couch to regain her balance and kicked off her shoes right there.

Kenma took one look at her flushed face. She smelled like stale perfume and alcohol. “Mom, are you drunk?”

“No! Well,  _ okay, _ maybe a little,” his mother laughed. She only seemed to find it funny for a moment, because then her laughter turned sad. She muffled quiet sobs against her hand, and Kenma found himself watching in fascinated horror. “Fuck, I hate him. I hate him so much.”

“Who?” Kenma handed over his water glass, and she downed half of it before continuing.

“That asshole, Hisao,” she said, referring to Maeda by his given name. “He doesn’t want to move in. I keep asking, and he keeps saying no, and— and tell me one happy married couple that doesn’t live together!”

Kenma didn’t personally know any married couples, so he didn’t respond. He waited for his mother to finish the water before helping her up to her room. She had barely gotten inside without getting hurt, and he had a feeling that she wouldn’t be as lucky on the stairs.

“Why is it so hard for people to love me? Is there something wrong with me? Is that why no one wants to stay with me?”

Kenma pushed open her door and shuffled her inside. “There’s nothing wrong with you,” he reassured, and his mother held onto him tighter. She refused to let go, so Kenma soon found himself patting her on the back awkwardly as she cried into his t-shirt.

“I love you so much. Promise that you’ll never leave me.”

“I promise.” Kenma ignored the way his stomach flipped at the words. He pried his mother away, and she flopped onto the bed without complaint.

He started for her dresser to find something comfortable for her to change into, but one look at his mother told him that she was already asleep. He went through her clothes until he found where she kept her pajamas, left some at the foot of her bed, and turned the light off on his way out.

* * *

Kenma kept his head down and rinsed off his plate as quietly as possible. His mother and Maeda had been arguing for the last ten minutes, and it didn’t seem like they would be stopping anytime soon. They were fine when Kenma got back from his classes— and then his mother made a snide comment about Maeda going back to his own place, _ since he liked it there so much. _ Their conversation quickly escalated from there.

_ “When will you let this rest? Stop being so dramatic, Moriko. I married you, not an extra half hour of commuting.” _

_ “Stop calling me dramatic!” _

_ “I will when you stop acting that way,” _ Maeda snapped.  _ “All I want is to keep my own space, and you’re being absolutely fucking impossible about this.” _

Kenma was almost certain newlyweds weren’t supposed to fight this much. But then again, he had never been married before. All he knew was that he had been with his partners for longer than his mother had even  _ known _ Maeda, and he got by just fine without seeing them everyday.

He also knew that starting an argument with one of them, solely because they didn’t want to do something that he did, would probably be a means to the end of their relationship.

Maeda looked furious as he stormed out of the dining room and into the kitchen, and Kenma suddenly wished he was anywhere but here. He stepped aside as Maeda walked toward the sink. But despite that, Maeda still went out of his way to maneuver around Kenma, resting a disgusting hand on the small of his back as he did so.

The contact was gone as quickly as it appeared. Maeda looked at Kenma— at the way his skin crawled as he froze— and laughed maliciously under his breath before disappearing from the kitchen.

Kenma wanted to throw up. He went upstairs and did exactly that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) sorry for dropping a filler chapter, but i have a lot of things to set up for the rest of the chapters and i really had no choice :(  
> 2) haha anyways the next chapter is gonna be a rough one :)  
> 3) pls pls pls comment i need the external motivation


	6. And Here's Some For Me (Part Two)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yikes :)

Kenma was sure that his mother and Maeda were going for some kind of record. They had been fighting for the past three days, and if all the yelling hadn’t put him on edge, it almost would have been impressive.

_ “We aren’t talking about this!” _

_ “People in relationships are supposed to talk about things!” _ His mother’s voice faltered. It sounded like she was sobbing, but that didn’t stop her from screaming at Maeda.  _ “They’re also supposed to fucking live together, but it sounds like you don’t want either of those, do you?” _

Kenma turned up the music in his earbuds and attempted to drown out the yelling coming from across the hall. He felt terrible for thinking it, but this really was a natural turn of events. This was what happened when someone rushed through a relationship and decided to marry some creep that they barely knew.

_ “And you expect me to just sit and listen to you and your two failed marriages?” _ Maeda asked, and Kenma sat up straight in bed, flinching as he heard something shatter in his mother’s bedroom.

_ “Shut up! Shut up! Don’t you dare bring those up! You know those weren’t my fault!” _

Kenma fisted his hands in the sheets. He felt tense and unsteady, and his heart was hammering in his chest. His mother continued to curse Maeda out, and then there were footsteps rushing down the stairs, and the sound of the front door slamming.

Kenma let himself breathe again. Maeda was gone, and that was good. His mother’s relationship was doomed from before it even started, but this time Kenma didn’t feel bad that she was tiring of her new husband so quickly. This time was nothing like her last relationship. Kenma didn’t mind his previous stepfather, but Maeda— he was almost certain that he hated Maeda.

The house was quiet now. Kenma still felt uneasy, but he was slowly calming down. He pushed away the rest of his lingering anxiety and headed downstairs to get some water before going back to sleep.

Kenma grabbed a glass from the kitchen cabinet. He filled it up in the sink, and when he turned around, he caught sight of Maeda coming down the stairs. Kenma’s anxiety instantly spiked. He dropped his cup, and broken glass and water splattered all over the floor.

Kenma flinched and carefully stepped away from the mess he made. “Ah, sorry… I didn’t realize you were still here.” He didn’t realize that his mother was the one who stormed out earlier.

“Don’t worry about the glass.” Maeda looked pissed. He had a cut on his face and winced slightly as he smiled emptily. There was a searing look behind his eyes. “Your mother threw one earlier, so it’s not like she cared too much about them anyways.”

Kenma instinctively took a step away from him, his back pressing against the counter top. “Are you okay?”

“No, but I will be.”

Kenma was momentarily confused, and then Maeda was close— much closer than Kenma wanted him to be— and then he was being kissed harshly. Kenma went cold, suddenly aware of the fact that his mother was nowhere to be found.

He got over his initial shock and pushed at Maeda, desperate to put some space between them. Maeda stepped back easily with amusement reflected on his face.

“Why would yo-”

“Because I felt like it,” Maeda said, as if that explained everything. “You were here, and your mom got on my nerves, and I felt like it.”

The front door opened, and Kenma’s mother walked back inside. She grabbed her purse from the counter and noticed Maeda. “God, why are you still here? Get the fuck out of my house before I call the police on you.”

Maeda hummed and started for the door. “Of course,” he said. “I wouldn’t want to overstay my welcome. Goodnight, Moriko. Goodnight, Kenma.”

Kenma covered his mouth and bit down stomach acid. His mother rolled her eyes and shooed Maeda out of the house, and then he was gone— actually gone this time. She turned to look at Kenma, noticing how pale he was. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I broke a glass. I’m sorry,” Kenma apologized. His mother reminded him to clean it up before someone got hurt, and then she was gone too— leaving him completely and utterly alone.

He tried to tell himself to do what his mother had asked of him, but his arms and legs wouldn’t listen. They felt heavy and like they didn’t entirely belong to him. Kenma slid to the floor and made up his mind to stay there for a while.

* * *

The next morning, Kenma followed his usual routine. He woke up and showered, he got dressed, and he left home. It was so ingrained in him that he could follow it without even thinking— and that was exactly what he did, having drifted away from reality sometime last night. He was dissociating again, and while Kenma was faintly aware of it this time, he wasn’t ready to come back to his body just yet.

He was safe in his mind. He was in pure, absolute solitude, where nothing would be able to hurt him, and that was good.

Kenma forced himself to move out of the way of a group of high school students. They stared at him oddly as they passed, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. He was too distanced from everything to give it much thought— his mind all fogged up to protect him from his panic and anxiety.

The only downside— besides the constant uncomfortable feeling— was the fact that Kenma was having trouble remembering things. And once he got to the station, he couldn’t remember which train he usually took to get to campus.

In a brief moment of clarity, he pulled out his phone and dialed the most recent caller.

_ “Hey, hey, hey!” _ Bokuto greeted loudly into the phone. Kenma winced, and Bokuto continued,  _ “What’s up? It’s pretty early for you to want to talk.” _

Kenma was quiet for a long moment, his tongue sitting heavily in his mouth and struggling to form words. “Sorry,” he managed.

_ “It’s okay. What’s going on?” _ Bokuto was suddenly a lot softer and a lot more worried as he spoke.

“I can’t… I can’t remember which train to take.”

_ “Are you zoning out again?” _

Kenma was in fact zoning out, but it wasn’t a bad thing. It was keeping him safe and secure, and he liked it better that way. “I think so,” he said, and then Bokuto reminded him that he was supposed to take the east line to Ikebukuro, where he would transfer and take the train to Hongo-Sanchome.

_ “And once you get here, I’m walking over to pick you up from the station, _ ” Bokuto added.  _ “I don’t like it when you’re out alone and zoning out this badly.” _

“Okay.” There was a part of him that wanted to tell Bokuto not to waste his time on him, but he didn’t have the energy to form that many words. So instead, Kenma merely thanked him and hung up to take the correct train.

And just as he promised, Bokuto was waiting for him when he got to Hongo-Sanchome. He took Kenma’s hand and quickly led him out of the busy station to get him away from the crowd.

“How are you feeling?”

“I don’t know,” Kenma said, following Bokuto as they walked to campus together. “I don’t think I’m real.” He tried to listen to Bokuto’s other questions— he really did— but it was too much exertion for his tired mind to stay comfortable. Kenma retreated back into his mind and fully zoned out again.

Bokuto pulled him into a building and helped him into a quiet corner. They sat down together, and Bokuto set a warm hand on Kenma’s knee to help ground him. “You’re really out of it today, so I’m gonna help get you out of your head, okay? Do you know where we are right now?”

Kenma blinked absentmindedly. “School,” he responded, hoping that it was a good enough answer. He was there as they walked into the building, and while it was familiar, he couldn’t exactly tell which one they were in.

“Good, babe, you’re doing great. Can you tell me my name?”

Kenma nodded. He could do that. “You’re Bokuto.”

“That’s right, but you usually call me Kou nowadays.” Bokuto smiled encouragingly at him. “How’re we feeling? Any better?”

“Kind of… weird now.” Kenma was starting to notice things around him— the details coming back in crisp detail and overwhelming his senses. He could tell that they were in the humanities building now, sitting in the student’s common area on the first floor. Bokuto was sitting clearly in front of him, and Kenma reached out to lace their fingers together.

Bokuto glanced down to their hands and his face crumbled just the slightest. He took Kenma’s palm and gently ran his thumb over the small scars, still fresh and red on his skin. “What happened?”

Kenma remembered the stinging of his hands. He wasn’t careful enough when he was cleaning up the broken glass last night. The glass that broke just before Maeda—

“Hey! Hey, it’s okay. I’m right here.” Bokuto looked slightly panicked, but despite that, he reached out to wipe away Kenma’s tears. “What happened? Does it hurt?”

“Broken glass. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m just really stupid,” Kenma sniffled.

“Don’t say that kind of stuff about yourself. And promise you’ll be more careful with stuff like that, okay?”

Kenma nodded and tucked his hands back into his sweater sleeves to hide them. He wanted to hide anything that reminded him of last night— of Maeda and the way he kissed Kenma solely  _ because he felt like it. _

There was the sound of rushed footsteps, and Kenma looked up to see Akaashi coming their way. He looked flustered and worried, and he sat down just next to Kenma to wrap a comforting arm around him. “I just got out of class. How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Kenma admitted, wiping away the last of his tears.

“That’s good. Do you know what happened earlier?”

Kenma didn’t have the best record when it came to lying to Akaashi, but despite that, he still tried. “No idea,” he said, and Akaashi pulled away from him slightly.

“I don’t believe you.” He looked at Kenma seriously. “Would you tell us if something was wrong?”

“Obviously.”

“I still don’t believe you.” Akaashi continued, “I just… I need you to remember that you can call any of us if something ever happens. I don’t care if I’m busy, or if I’m at work, or if it’s the middle of the night. I  _ want _ to answer, because I  _ want _ to be there for you.”

Kenma loved Akaashi and he loved Bokuto. He hated having to lie to them, but some things— things like Maeda— were better left alone and unsaid.

* * *

Kenma’s mother was gone again. She didn’t come back that night, or the night after— and Kenma was okay with that. It just made it easier for him to disappear into plain sight. No one was around to stop him from skipping breakfast or from sticking fingers down his throat after eating half an apple, and he really couldn’t tell whether or not that was a good thing.

It didn’t feel like a good thing. But the feeling of satisfaction that followed his bad habits told him otherwise.

* * *

Kenma yawned and rubbed at his eyes, suddenly awake. Someone was ringing the doorbell downstairs, and it didn’t seem like they had any intention of stopping soon. He groaned and rolled over, pulling blankets over his head in an attempt to drown out the annoyance.

And then it went quiet all of a sudden. Kenma hesitated. He waited for the ringing to resume again— but it didn’t, and he visibly relaxed as he realized that whoever was at the door probably thought that no one was home. It wasn’t too far from the truth. Kenma was the only one home, and it had been that way for a while now.

Which was exactly why he jolted up in bed when he heard footsteps that definitely didn’t belong to his mother. He listened intently as they headed in his direction, and he froze when someone knocked at his door.

“It’s the middle of the day, so if you’re still asleep, I’m not sorry for waking you up,” Kuroo greeted, and Kenma released a tense breath as he walked into the room. “What, were you expecting someone else?”

It had nothing to do with it being Kuroo, and everything to do with the fact that Kenma hadn’t been  _ expecting _ anyone. “I’m taking away your key,” he said in return.

“I have a spare.”

“Whatever.” Kenma rolled his eyes and layed back down, watching Kuroo as he nearly tripped over a pile of dirty clothes. “What are you even doing here?”

“My boyfriend’s been antisocial lately and I wanted to check on him. We both know I’ve come over for way less, so this really shouldn’t be a surprise.” Kuroo pushed up his sleeves and deposited the clothes into the hamper by the closet. He brushed off his hands and turned back to Kenma. “Also, I was thinking we could have breakfast together.”

“It’s past noon.”

“Yeah, but you just woke up,” Kuroo pointed out. “The first meal of the day is breakfast— it doesn’t matter what time you eat it.”

“That sounds like bullshit,” Kenma said, and then before he knew it, he was being nudged out of bed and down the stairs. There were groceries in the kitchen— Kuroo must have stopped by the convenience store before coming over. He pulled a cup of chawanmushi from a bag and handed it to Kenma.

Kenma handed it right back. “My stomach isn’t awake yet.”

“It’s past noon,” Kuroo echoed. “Just try it. You don’t have to finish it if you don’t want to.”

“You’re so annoying.” Kenma took the cup and poked at the steamed egg. Kuroo looked satisfied, and began to put away the groceries he bought.

He opened the fridge and paused. It was nearly empty, except for the cans of iced coffee and energy drinks. “You really need to stop drinking all this caffeine, Kenma. It’s gonna rewire your brain,” he lectured, moving the cans aside to make room for vegetables and water bottles. “How long has your mom been gone?”

Kenma shrugged. “About a week, I think.”

“I’m gonna take a guess and say you haven’t had an actual meal since then,” he said. Kenma quietly averted his eyes and nodded. “What happened? Did you get into a fight?”

“No…”

“Did she say something to you?”

Kenma shook his head. “No.”

He frowned. “Then can you  _ tell me _ what happened? Please, Kenma, I’m really trying my best here.” Kuroo reached out an arm to wrap around him— but he pulled away. He didn’t want to be touched. Not in this kitchen. Not near this counter.

Kenma shook his head again, unwilling to talk about it. “Nothing happened. She’s probably just staying with her sister again.”

“But that’s not true, is it?”

“It is,” he insisted.

“Kenma, you’ve been avoiding everyone, and you haven’t been taking care of yourself. It’s obvious that something happened.”

Kuroo reached for him again and Kenma flinched away. “Don’t touch me!” He snapped. Kuroo looked hurt, and the horror of what he had just said quickly dawned on Kenma. “Oh my god. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

“It’s okay. I won’t touch you. I’m just worried.” Kuroo’s voice was soft and placating, but he looked unsure of himself. “Kenma, please just tell me what’s going on.”

He took a step back to put more space between them. “I  _ can’t.” _

Kenma couldn’t tell Bokuto, he couldn’t tell Akaashi, and now, he couldn’t tell Kuroo either. Even in a relationship like theirs, Kenma felt completely and utterly alone.

“Can you just— can you leave?”

Kuroo blinked, surprised. “I’m not going anywhere while you’re this worked up. I’m not leaving you alone.”

“I’m fine,” Kenma insisted. And if he wasn’t, it was no one’s business but his own. “I’ll call you later. I just… I want to be alone right now.”

Kuroo looked hesitant. “I need you to promise you’ll call me later.”

“I will. I promise,” Kenma said, and he finally let himself breathe as Kuroo put his coat on and left. He was alone again, but the weight on his chest didn’t lift like he had expected it too. If anything, it grew heavier.

* * *

**Tetsurou (Sunday 14:02)**

how are you feeling

**Tetsurou (Sunday 14:47)**

are you okay?

**Tetsurou (Sunday 15:21)**

i can’t tell if you’re ignoring me or if something’s wrong

**Tetsurou (Sunday 18:21)**

kenma

please call me

* * *

Kenma’s phone vibrated in his bag. He waited until his professor turned back to the projector screen before pulling it out to check his notifications.

**Tetsurou (Monday 09:32)**

are you alright?

you were supposed to call me yesterday

Long story short, Kenma did not call Kuroo like he had promised to. He was too drained after their failed conversation to do anything productive, so he went back to his room and spent the rest of the day in bed, replaying BioShock and ignoring Kuroo’s texts.

**Kenma (Monday 09:33)**

my phone died

**Tetsurou (Monday 09:35)**

and you didn’t charge it until today?

**Kenma (Monday 09:36)**

sorry i forgot

Kenma put his phone away, unwilling to be called out by his professor for being distracted. He took notes for the remainder of class, and then as soon as they were dismissed, he was out of the classroom and in the hall— which was where he noticed Kuroo. He was sitting and waiting for Kenma, despite the fact that he was supposed to be in class in an entirely different building right now.

“Can we talk?”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Kenma insisted, but he didn’t fight as Kuroo stood up and pulled him into a quieter area.

Kuroo’s voice was soft and strained as he spoke. “Listen, I don’t know what’s happening, but I want to help. So please tell me what’s going on. I can’t help if you don’t tell me anything.” He continued, “Is it me— am I pushing too much again? Because if you’d rather talk to one of the others, Keiji and Bo would ditch their classes right now if you asked them to.”

Kenma shook his head. He didn’t want that— he didn’t want anyone to miss class because of him. He wasn’t worth that much. “I’m fine,” he said.

“You’re not.” Kuroo ran a stressed hand through his hair in an attempt to soothe himself. “Kenma, please. Just tell me what’s wrong.”

“You’re overwhelming me,” Kenma responded, his mouth moving before his mind could catch up and stop the harsh words. “I don’t need you to check on me every day, so just stop.”

“I’m not apologizing for being worried. It’s not my fault that I care about you.”

“It’s not mine either,” he snapped. “So just… just leave me alone.”

Kuroo frowned and hesitated. “That’s really what you want?”

“Yes.” It wasn’t, but the things that Kenma  _ wanted, _ and the things that Kenma  _ said _ had never lined up for very long.

“Alright,” Kuroo said. “I’m sorry for suffocating you.”

Kenma quickly averted his eyes to stare at the floor, noticing the way Kuroo began to blink back tears. “It’s fine.”

“I’ll, um… I’ll talk to you later.”

Kenma nodded. “Talk to you later,” he agreed, despite the heartache in his chest. The two of them silently parted ways. Kenma shoved his hands in his sweatshirt pockets and rushed off to his next class, desperate to keep his mind from lingering on what had just happened.

* * *

Kenma was the worst person in Tokyo— in all of Japan, even, and he deserved absolutely nothing. He pushed two fingers to the back of his throat and spit up what remained of the taiyaki he had for lunch.

Throwing up was a terrible habit, and he knew that. He knew all about what Akaashi went through in high school— what he was  _ still _ going through— but Kenma wouldn’t get that bad. He was going to quit once he stopped feeling so gross and terrible about himself. But until that happened, this was a necessary and temporary relief.

Kenma flushed the toilet and stood up. He rinsed his mouth and swallowed the cool tap water to ease the discomfort in his throat. His mother was waiting for him downstairs, and he didn’t need her to suspect anything, lest she draw any more attention to the way he looked.

_ “You look small. Are you losing weight again?”  _ She had asked as soon as she came back home— before Kenma even had a chance to greet her. He shrugged and tried to evade the question, but she still went on to tell him  _ not to get too skinny _ or else she would  _ have to start dieting again to catch up. _

Kenma went back downstairs and lingered at the entrance to the living room. He wasn’t entirely sure if he missed his mother, or if he was even happy that she was home— but there was something on his mind, and he had to ask.

“Are you and Maeda-san getting a divorce?”

His mother looked at him from her seat on the couch and sighed petulantly. “I don’t particularly  _ want _ to be the woman with three ex-husbands, but I think it’s unavoidable,” she responded. “I should really just give up on relationships altogether. Why do you ask? Don’t tell me you liked having him around.”

Kenma shook his head. “The opposite. I didn’t really… get along with him. I was kind of uncomfortable when he was around.”

“Baby, you’re  _ kind of uncomfortable _ when anyone’s around.”

“I guess I am…”

* * *

A chilly gust of wind blew by, threatening to knock Kenma over as he walked home. His hands were deep in his pockets, and his hoodie was drawn tight around his head to keep the cold out. It was disgustingly gloomy outside and all he wanted was to be home, in his bed, where he could curl up and play Luigi’s Mansion until he fell asleep.

It was a lot easier than dealing with the fact that he had ran into Kuroo after class today— and not knowing what else to do, he ducked his head down and walked past him without a word. Like an asshole.

Kenma really needed to work on that. He should have been able to talk about things he didn’t like without needing someone to force him into it. He should have been able to talk to his boyfriend—  _ his boyfriends _ without being crippled by intrusive thoughts of them hating him or wanting to break up with him.

Kenma should have been able to be an adult about these things. But he wasn’t, and he wasn’t entirely sure of where to begin.

He bit the inside of his cheek and quickly made his way back home. The front door was unlocked when he arrived, and as he walked inside, he was immediately hit with the smell of his mother’s cooking.

“You’re home late,” Kenma’s mother called out from the kitchen. She never cooked, unless she was in a really good mood. “We’re celebrating tonight, so hurry and get cleaned up so we can eat.”

Kenma took his coat off and hung it on the hook farthest from the door. “What are we celebrating?” He asked, and then his stomach churned as his mother stepped into the hall, hand in hand with Maeda Hisao.

“The fact that your mother and I made it through our first fight as a married couple,” Maeda responded. “And the fact that I’ll be moving in with the two of you.”

His mother looked at Kenma curiously. “Baby, you look pale.”

“I don’t want him to move in,” he blurted out.

“Excuse me?”

Kenma shook his head, rambling as he attempted to justify himself to his mother. “I mean… just a few days ago, you said you were getting a divorce, and I thought you were getting a divorce, and I told you I don’t like being around him, and-”

His mother sighed and rubbed her temple as if she had a headache. “Hisao, could you give us a moment?” Maeda vanished into the living room, and Kenma’s mother walked over to join him in the genkan. “Listen, we’ve all had to make sacrifices for this family, alright? You’ve lived with a stepfather before, what makes this one any different?”

“I can’t be around him,” Kenma tried to explain.

“Why not?”

“I can’t- I can’t tell you.”

His mother crossed her arms over her chest. “This is just like you. I’m nice and use the name and pronouns you like, but as soon as I ask you for something, all hell breaks loose.”

Kenma wanted to cry. “Mom, you’re not listening to me-”

“I don’t understand why you always have to be so difficult-”

“Just listen to me for a second-”

“Don’t interrupt me!” She screamed, striking Kenma across the face to get him to stop talking. He reeled backwards, and everything stopped for a moment as he slowly processed the stinging under his skin, and the dull ache in his cheekbone, and the tears coming to his eyes, and—

He quickly jumped back to get away from his mother.

“Oh my god, baby, I’m so sorry. I thought you were going to move out of the way,” she tried, but Kenma couldn’t hear her false apology over the sound of his heart thudding in his ears.

His mother hit him. She  _ hit him, _ and  _ Maeda  _ was moving in, and everything was after him.  _ Everything  _ was trying to hurt him. And while he knew that he had no say in anything in his life, he knew that he didn’t want to be hurt again.

Kenma didn’t run very often, but this was the exception. He darted out the front door, too frenzied and rushed to remember to put his coat back on.

And he ran. He ran until he was hyperventilating and tripping over himself and blinking black spots from his vision, and then he kept running until he was collapsing to the ground, unable to breathe. He curled up and pressed his forehead to his knees, shaking with silent sobs.

He wanted Kuroo. He wanted somewhere safe to go— somewhere where he knew he wouldn’t be hurt, and up until now, that  _ somewhere  _ was wherever Kuroo happened to be. But Kenma had ruined that, and they weren’t on speaking terms, and Kuroo probably hated him now.

He fumbled for his cellphone and clung to it as he called Akaashi instead. Akaashi picked up on the second ring.

_ “Kenma?” _

He shuddered and coughed, unable to catch his breath.

Akaashi gasped.  _ “Kenma, please tell me you aren’t outside right now. What’s happening?” _

“I’m sorry,” he managed out.

_ “There’s nothing to apologize for. I told you to call me whenever you needed to, and there’s nothing wrong with that. Just- just give me a moment,” _ Akaashi reassured. There was the sound of movement and doors opening.  _ “I’m here with Tetsurou now. I’m putting you on speaker.” _

Kenma flinched and shook his head. “No, no, you can’t, he hates me, I can’t talk to him-”

_ “Sweetheart, you know I could never hate you. _ ” Kuroo’s voice was clear through the speaker, familiar and comforting as it always was.  _ “Everything’s going to be okay. You just need to get your breathing under control. Do you think you can breathe for us?” _

Kenma nodded, although there was no one around to see him. He worked hard as Kuroo led him through breathing exercises, and it helped. It helped a lot. His chest was opening back up, and the buzzing in his ears was quieting down— and then he remembered his mother, and he remembered the feeling of being hit.

Kenma choked on his breath and sniffled into the receiver. He was alone, and he was cold, and he was going to die on the side of the street, and no one would care because he pushed everyone away.

_ “Sweetie, you have to pay attention to my voice. Can you hear me?” _

Kenma whimpered in response. His heart was fighting against his ribs, and he was certain that it would stop beating altogether any moment now. He tried to follow Kuroo’s encouragement again, and eventually found himself on a steady rhythm.

Kenma took in a shuddering breath. “Kuro?”

_ “Yeah, sweetheart?” _

“I’m sorry.”

_ “You’re having a panic attack, there’s nothing to be sorry for,” _ Kuroo soothed.  _ “Where are you right now? Are you close to home?” _

Kenma looked up from his lap, wiping away cold tears. He was at the same park he had visited with Hinata a few weeks ago. “Not really… I’m by the station.”

_ “Okay, good. We’re coming to get you.” _

Kenma’s phone beeped, and he looked at the screen. His battery was nearly dead, and the cold weather wasn’t doing it any favors. “Kuro, my phone’s going to die. I- I can’t-”

_ “That’s okay,” _ he reassured, always knowing what to say to keep Kenma from falling apart.  _ “Just promise to stay right where you are, so we can find you. Can you promise me that?” _

“I will,” Kenma promised.

_ “Okay, I love you.” _

Kenma responded with his own  _ “I love you too,”  _ but his phone chose that moment to shut off, and it was impossible to know if Kuroo had heard it.

Kenma’s life was falling to pieces. He was cold, he was crying, and if he wasn’t shivering, he would have pinched himself to make sure this wasn’t some deluded nightmare. But sadly enough, this was his reality. As cold and desolate as it was, this was Kenma’s life, and he had to live with it.

His fingers were sore and turning stiff from the cold. He shoved his phone back into his pocket. A harsh gust of wind rushed by, and all he could do was brace himself against it, curling in on himself to stay as warm as possible.

He looked up from his lap once again, this time hearing small cries coming from somewhere nearby. If he was cold, then the source of that sound must have been freezing. He made the decision to break his promise to Kuroo  _ just a little bit, _ following the cries to find his little calico kitten laying in an abandoned nest.

Its fur was dirty and matted. It had obviously been the runt of the litter, but now Kenma could tell that it was underfed and starving. Its mother must have abandoned it to cut her losses.

Kenma hesitated for only a moment before picking the kitten up with cold hands. He wasn’t going to be very much help, but in an attempt to keep it from freezing to death, he unzipped his sweatshirt and held the kitten against his stomach, where he was the warmest.

Kenma shuffled back to his original spot and curled back up. The both of them laid in wait for their saviors to arrive. Hopefully, it wouldn’t take too long.

* * *

Koutarou sat in the backseat of Kuroo’s car, worrying his hair between his hands. He had gotten permission from his coach to leave practice early, on account of having a family emergency— which was honestly what this was.

“Can you tell me what’s happening again?”

Akaashi sighed from his seat on the passenger’s side. He was holding his phone out, giving Kuroo directions for the quickest way to Nerima Station. “I’ve already told you. Kenma’s outside somewhere. He called me in the middle of a panic attack, and now we’re going to get him.”

Koutarou knew that. He wasn’t stupid, and Akaashi had already been patient enough to repeat it for him a few times. He was just processing, trying to wrap his head around the fact that they didn’t know where Kenma was, and that they had limited information on where they were supposed to find him.

Kenma wasn’t at home. He was somewhere near the station, but there were  _ a lot  _ of things near the station, so that wasn’t very much help.

It made Koutarou nervous, and the same went for Kuroo and Akaashi. And when everyone around him was nervous, Koutarou’s anxiety would build up and boil over. All he could do was keep himself from slipping and falling to a low point, and that was exactly what he needed to do, because right now everyone needed to be worried about Kenma, and not him.

They drove past Nerima Station, and Kuroo pulled the car around to park across the street.

Akaashi turned to Kuroo. “You’ve been here more often than we have. Is there anywhere in particular that Kenma likes to go?”

“I don’t know,” Kuroo said, resting his forehead on the steering wheel. He looked exhausted. “There’s a shopping center nearby, but it’s too close. We would have heard the trains over the phone.”

Koutarou remembered being in the area with Kenma once, and keeping him company while he worked on a landscape drawing for one of his classes. “Isn’t there a park around here somewhere?”

Kuroo nodded. “There’s a few. They aren’t far, but it would probably be better if we checked each of them individually.”

“We can do that. Just tell us where to go,” Koutarou responded, and Kuroo was quick to point him and Akaashi in the correct directions. The three of them split up, and they set out to find Kenma.

Koutarou ran all the way to the park. It was a familiar path— one he had walked with Kenma before, and he didn’t need to slow down to find his way. The park was mostly nature. There were benches and walking paths, and Koutarou noticed a playground off to the side, obscured by a few overgrown bushes.

He walked past them, and then he noticed something small and yellow curled up near the swings. It was Kenma. He was wearing the sweatshirt he had stolen from Kuroo’s closet the last time he visited.

“Kenma!” Koutarou called out, and Kenma’s head popped up from where it had been buried in his knees.

“Kou?”

Koutarou rushed over and fell to his knees to get on Kenma’s level. “Hey there, pudding. I found you,” he greeted. His heart sank as he saw the way Kenma shivered, his teeth chattering violently as his body tried to keep itself warm. “Oh my god, you’re freezing. You’re gonna borrow my coat for a while, okay?”

Kenma hummed, and he leaned into the warmth of Koutarou’s coat as it was wrapped around him. “Thank you,” he muttered, sounding much too polite.

“It’s no problem. You know that.” Koutarou sent a quick text to Kuroo and Akaashi, telling them that he had found Kenma and was bringing him back to the car. He pocketed his phone and turned his attention back to his shivering boyfriend. “Can you walk?”

Kenma shook his head. “I think my legs are frozen.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound very good. How about I carry you instead?” Koutarou offered. He shifted closer to scoop Kenma up, but Kenma pulled back.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Kenma warned, and it was only then that Koutarou noticed the kitten curled up in his lap, fast asleep. Kenma shifted it into a better position before allowing Koutarou to pick both of them up.

Koutarou started back for the car, much slower this time. “Who’s your new friend?”

“I don’t know,” Kenma admitted. “We met a while ago when Shouyou was visiting. I was scared it was gonna freeze alone out here, so I’ve been trying to keep it warm.”

“We could probably warm it up better at the apartment. And the same goes for you too, you know.”

When they made it to the car, Kuroo and Akaashi were already waiting for them. They held back as Koutarou sat Kenma down in the car and turned the heat onto the highest setting— and then as soon as he stepped away, Akaashi was on top of Kenma, clinging to him like he was going to blow away.

“You’re so cold,” Akaashi pointed out.

Kenma sniffled and nodded. He showed his hands to Akaashi. “My nails are blue.”

Koutarou looked to Kuroo, who was still standing at a distance. He had been worked up and frantic earlier, but now it was like his adrenaline had runout. “Hey, you okay? Do you want me to drive back home?”

Kuroo blinked and shook his head. “No. I’m good. Just… working through some stuff.”

Koutarou narrowed his eyes. “If you say so,” he responded. Kuroo was far from the best at being upfront about his feelings— that was something he shared with both Kenma and Akaashi— but Koutarou was willing to let it rest for now. He would press him about it later.

He climbed into the backseat with Kenma and Akaashi, and Kuroo started the drive back to their apartment. Koutarou pulled his coat tighter around Kenma. Akaashi took his hands in his own and breathed on them to get the blood flowing again. They were on the same page— they needed to get Kenma warm first and foremost.

Akaashi looked at him closely, and his expression twisted unfamiliarly. “Did somebody  _ hit you?” _

Koutarou blinked. “What?” Kenma shifted his attention downwards to hide, but now that Koutarou was looking, he could easily see the red mark just underneath his eye. And now that he was aware of it, he wasn’t entirely sure what he was supposed to feel.

He wanted to be angry. Someone had hit Kenma, and they hit him so hard that it left a mark on his face. It made him sick to his stomach.

But then he took another look at Kenma— all small and perfect and hurt— and all of Koutarou’s anger disappeared, now replaced with  _ hurt _ because  _ Kenma was hurting. _

Kuroo spoke up from the driver’s seat. “Was it your mom?”

“It’s not a big deal. She’ll be normal in a few days.”

Koutarou’s heart took a moment to shatter into a million pieces. “You really want to go back to her?”

Kenma stared down at his feet and refused to answer. Akaashi went back to warming his hands, and the rest of the car ride passed quietly.

* * *

Keiji brought a change of clothes into the bathroom for Kenma. “Shower quickly so you can warm up in the bath,” he said, and Kenma nodded quietly, exhausted from being out in the cold for so long. Keiji closed the door behind him as he left, and just as soon as Kenma was out of sight, a deep unease settled over his nerves.

Objectively, everything was fine. Kenma was okay and safe at their apartment, and they would finally be able to have a proper conversation about what had been going on with him recently. Nothing was wrong or out of place. But for some reason, Keiji still felt antsy. He felt like he still needed to help— like he still needed to put his energy into something productive.

Keiji paced the apartment. He washed all the dishes in the sink and wiped down all the counters. He cleaned off the stove, and once he was done with that, he paced the living room in search of something else to keep himself busy.

“Just sit down somewhere,” Kuroo snapped from the couch, tired of watching him go back and forth.

Keiji paused and eyed him sharply. “I would apologize for distracting you from sitting in silence, but  _ anything could have happened today. _ Anything could have happened to Kenma while he was out there, and we wouldn’t even have known if he didn’t call. He could have  _ died—  _ so I’m sorry if I don’t feel like sitting down and relaxing just yet.”

“Don’t you think I know that? He could have gotten hypothermia if we took any longer, or someone else could have found him first, or-”

Bokuto interrupted. “Could we please stop talking about what could have happened? It’s really freaking me out.”

“Sorry,” Keiji and Kuroo apologized in unison.

Kuroo dropped his head into his hands. “I’m sorry. I just… I feel like I’m all over the place right now,” he said. “I don’t know what happened or what’s been happening, and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

“Neither do I,” Keiji admitted.

Bokuto looked at the two of them sadly. He helped Kuroo off the couch and nudged him in the direction of his room before turning back to Keiji. “Do you want to go check on Kenma?”

Keiji nodded without hesitation. He did want to do that, especially because he was in desperate need of something to do. Bokuto had always been surprisingly good at helping others through stressful times.

Back in his own room, Keiji knocked on the bathroom door twice before opening it. Kenma was facing away from the door and sitting up to his shoulders in bath water. It was quiet.

Keiji had always loved being around Kenma for the comfortable silences that surrounded him, but this quiet was far from familiar. He was all too aware of his breathing— of the sound of the squeaky drawer as he pulled out a salve, and the shuffling of his feet on the tiles as he walked over to sit next to the tub.

“I don’t need that,” Kenma insisted.

“Maybe, but even so, I was hoping you would let me apply it for you. Things like this make me feel like I’m doing something to help,” Keiji confessed. Kenma let him rub the salve onto the developing bruise on his face, and he continued, “I don’t know exactly what happened today, but I want you to know that all of us want you here. We don’t want you in danger, or around anyone who would hurt you.”

“My mom wouldn’t hurt me.”

“She already did,” he reminded. “She put her hands on you.”

Kenma averted his eyes. “It’s not a big deal,” he tried, but it was obvious that he didn’t believe his own words.

Keiji watched Kenma sadly. “Please don’t say things like that. It’s a very big deal because  _ you  _ are a very big deal.”

Kenma nodded, tears coming to his eyes.

Akaashi thumbed one away before it had the chance to fall. “Kenma, I can promise you that you aren’t alone. So you don’t have to pretend like you are anymore.”

* * *

Tetsurou walked into his room and sat down on his and Kenma’s bed. He only ever slept there when Kenma was over. It was  _ their  _ bed, and it felt weird to exist in a space that he so desperately wanted to share with someone else. It felt wrong to live without Kenma nearby. He should have been there for him today.

Bokuto sat down next to him. “So… Kenma’s mom hit him.”

“Yeah,” Tetsurou responded. He leaned his head onto Bokuto’s shoulder. “And he still wants to go back home to her.”

“Are you okay?”

Tetsurou really didn’t want to think about himself right now, but he figured this was as good a time as any. “Not good,” he admitted. Bokuto wrapped an arm around him, and Tetsurou continued, “It’s just really hard to sit there and see how his mom treats him and not be able to do anything about it. She’s supposed to care about him, and all she does is hurt him. It’s fucked up.”

“It’s super fucked up. No one deserves that,” Bokuto agreed, but he wasn’t aware of how deep this truly went. Tetsurou had spent the better part of his life protecting Kenma from everything that he could. Whether it was the assholes that almost made him quit volleyball in his first year, or even Kenma himself, when he would relapse and be unable to eat without crippling anxiety— Tetsurou had always been there to put himself in the crossfire and protect him.

It was just impossible to get between him and his mother.

Tetsurou sighed and sniffled wetly. “I never should have left him alone the other day. I feel like I should have seen this coming.

“You’re blaming yourself,” Bokuto pointed out.

Tetsurou laughed quietly and humorlessly. “Yeah, obviously.”

Bokuto pulled back slightly to get a better look at him. “I’ve met his mom too. It was only once, but I never thought this would happen,” he said.

“Okay, yes, but-”

“But nothing,” Bokuto interrupted. “It’s not Kenma’s fault she hit him, and it’s not yours that you couldn’t see into the future and magically stop it from happening. Kenma’s mom is the only bad guy here.”

Tetsurou nodded and quickly wiped his face to keep away the tears. Kenma was warm, and he was safe, and for right now, that was the only thing any of them could have asked for. That was all that mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) god i have been waiting to write this chapter for six fucking months,,, it’s finally done and i’m actually really proud of it  
> 2) this is the fastest i've ever written a chapter holy shit  
> 3) i almost cried while writing the akaken bathroom scene  
> 4) i am not above begging for comments. so, if this chapter hurt your feelings, pls yell at me in the comments and also maybe say something nice (?) if you wanna (???)


	7. Oh, You Must Wear Your Rue With A Difference

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome to bokuken nation. i've been neglecting them too much in this fic but hopefully this chapter makes up for it a bit

Kenma woke up in a panic. His overly-anxious nerves jolted him back to consciousness, his heart racing and thudding in his chest. His hands shook like he was still shivering— like he was still out in the cold— and he took a long moment to calm himself down before he lingered on that thought for too long.

He was alright. He was at the apartment, in bed with Kuroo, and he was alright.

Kenma disconnected his phone from the charger cable and turned it on for the first time since yesterday. He hadn’t really needed it last night, considering that he was too busy apologizing to everyone, and crying into Kuroo’s shoulder, and grimacing when Kuroo cried and got snot into his hair. It had been an emotional night for all of them— and it looked like it was going to be an emotional morning as well, since Kenma had thirty missed calls from his mother, and forty messages.

**Mom (Friday 17:31)**

Where did you go?

**Mom (Friday 17:35)**

Helloooo???

**Mom (Friday 17:59)**

I’m sorry… ok I already apologized

**Mom (Friday 18:08)**

Kenma answer your phone.

**Mom (Friday 18:21)**

Where are you????

**Mom (Friday 18:38)**

I’m sorry for yelling at you please call me back ASAP

**Mom (Friday 19:02)**

I love you so much… I’m so sorry :(

Kenma set his phone down. His mother had calmed down much faster than he expected her to. She was apologetic and worried, and she wanted him back home— which meant that he probably shouldn’t stay away for too long.

He shuffled out of bed and stood up. He was careful not to disturb Kuroo as he grabbed his things. It was okay that he was leaving— the station was already open for the morning, and he could explain himself in the group chat while he waited for the train to show up. Akaashi and Kuroo and Bokuto would be upset with him for a little while, but they would get over it, and things would go back to normal.

Kenma really hoped that things would go back to normal.

He left the bedroom, leaving Kuroo and the calico kitten behind. They would be fine without him. Kuroo was good with animals— he was the one who cleaned her up last night, and he was the one to tell Kenma that nearly all calicos were female, since the gene for the pattern existed on both X chromosomes.

Kenma headed straight for the genkan. There was the sound of a door opening behind him, and he looked over to find Bokuto fully awake and fully dressed for his morning run.

Bokuto paused in his tracks, his expression deflating. “You were really gonna leave without saying goodbye?”

That was _exactly_ what he was trying to do— it just sounded so much worse now that he was hearing it aloud. Kenma must have been a truly terrible person to even consider something like that. He bit the inside of his cheek, embarrassed and ashamed.

“C’mon,” Bokuto started, coming over to pull him back into the living room. “Tell me what’s happening.”

Kenma reluctantly sat down on the couch. “I have to go back home.”

“No one’s making you go anywhere.” Bokuto gently took Kenma’s hands as he began to fidget and pick at his nails. “No one’s forcing you to choose something you don’t want,” he reassured, but no matter how much Kenma wanted to believe him, things just weren’t that simple.

“It’s fine,” Kenma said, no longer in the mood to talk about this. “You should just go on your run or something.”

Bokuto let the subject drop easily. “You know… I was thinking of skipping today,” he hummed. “I’d rather hang around with you instead. It’s not everyday that we get to be together like this.”

Kenma flushed, still embarrassed, but now for an entirely different reason. Bokuto cupped his cheek and kissed him sweetly. They broke apart, and Kenma hid his face in his hands. “It’s too early for this,” he half-heartedly complained.

“It’s too early for you to be awake,” Kuroo interjected, yawning loudly as he walked out of his room. “What’s going on out here?”

“Just talking,” Bokuto responded, and then he made grabby hands at Kuroo until he came over. He pulled him into his lap and planted a wet kiss on his cheek.

Kuroo laughed and got comfortable. “Doesn’t look like _just talking_ to me.” He swatted Bokuto’s hand away from his thigh and turned his attention to Kenma. “I’m not gonna lie, I was scared when I woke up and saw you weren’t there. I thought you might have left.”

“I’m still here,” Kenma reassured, despite the fact that he would have been long gone if Bokuto hadn’t caught him leaving.

“You’re still here,” Kuroo repeated, a soft smile taking its place on his lips. “And since you’re still here, do you wanna tell me how you’re feeling today?”

Kenma grimaced. “Do you want an honest answer?”

“I do.”

“Anxious, mostly,” he responded. “I should probably go home, but I know that you guys want me to stay here.”

“We do, but it’s not like we can stop you if you choose to go back.”

“Do you _want_ to go back?” Bokuto asked, and Kenma hesitated for a moment.

“It’s complicated. My mom wants me home.”

Kuroo narrowed his eyes at Kenma. “I’m sure she does… but is that what _you_ want? Kenma shook his head slightly, and he continued, “Then let’s make it simple. You never have to go back to her.”

Kenma shook his head again, more firmly this time. “No. No, you’re going to get tired of me if I’m around too much. I’m annoying.”

“You’re not. And even if you were, that doesn’t mean anything,” Bokuto said. “Tetsu annoys me all the time and I still love him just the same. And he annoys you and Keiji, Keiji annoys him, and I annoy Keiji— and I forgot where I was going with this, but we love you lots, please stay with us?”

If Keiji was awake, he would take Kenma by the hands and tell him something about boundaries— about him putting walls up between himself and his mother so that she wouldn’t be able to hurt him anymore.

Kenma took a deep breath and nodded. He wanted to stay. He really, _really_ wanted to stay, and despite how terrified he was of his mother getting upset with him again, moving out seemed like a pretty straightforward boundary.

* * *

Kenma grimaced at his reflection. He traced over the bruise on his cheek. His mother had hurt him, and despite all of the apologies she had sent over text, she wasn’t even sorry about it— they were all hollow and empty, just like her.

He swallowed heavily and broke away from the mirror. “Hey, Keiji,” he called out, walking into the living room.

Akaashi glanced at him from his place in the kitchen. “Yes?”

“I feel like I’m overreacting.”

“You aren’t,” Akaashi reassured. His words were firm and left no room for debate. “You’re entitled to your emotions, Kenma. You may not think so, because your mother has convinced you that your own feelings don’t matter, but I can assure you that you aren’t overreacting and you never have been.”

Kenma sighed and sat down on the couch. “I don’t think I’m going back home,” he softly announced. “I think I’m staying here.”

Akaashi stopped what he was doing in the kitchen. He walked out to look at Kenma properly, and there was an air of _joy_ and _relief_ reflected behind his eyes as he did so. “You’re moving in with us?”

Kenma nodded. “Kuro and Kou said it was alright,” he said, because even after their earlier discussion, both Kuroo and Bokuto still had to spend a while convincing Kenma that they _absolutely_ wanted him to stay.

Akaashi walked into the living room and sat down next to him. “Of course it’s alright, they’ve been planning for the two of us to move in since they got the apartment,” he said, and Kenma supposed that was true. Kuroo wouldn’t have spent the last few months harassing him to move in if he didn’t think it was a good idea.

Kenma kicked his legs up to drape over Akaashi’s lap.

Akaashi hummed. “Your mother doesn’t deserve you. I’m glad you decided not to go back to her,” he admitted, idly drawing shapes into Kenma’s thigh. “I’m very proud of you for making that decision.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Kenma said, and if he did, it was nothing to be proud of.

“You chose what was best for you, and I’m proud of you for doing that.”

Kenma averted his eyes and stared at the ground. “It’s not like I’m completely done with her or anything… I still have to get my stuff.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Akaashi reassured. “Tetsurou still has his key, so he and Koutarou will take care of that for you. As long as you wish it, you never have to go back.”

Kenma’s response was interrupted by the sound of his phone ringing next to him. His mother was calling him again, and he could feel his anxiety skyrocketing.

He had already missed so many of her calls that the guilt weighed heavily on his chest. His heart was in his throat, and his blood was pumping in his ears— but then Akaashi’s cool hands were at his face, and Kenma found himself looking into beautiful blue eyes.

“Boundaries,” Akaashi reminded. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

Kenma blinked. “I don’t want to answer,” he said.

Akaashi nodded. “Then you won’t.” He took Kenma’s phone and turned the ringer off, like it was the simplest thing in the world. And it was.

* * *

Kenma had always liked Kuroo’s house. His parents worked in international business and spent most of the year in Seoul, so he was raised by his grandparents for the most part— and that worked out fine for Kenma, because he liked Kuroo’s grandparents. They were a sweet couple that always welcomed him with open arms, and never questioned him when he needed a place to get away from his mother for a while.

“I’m back,” Kuroo had announced, already kicking off his shoes and dropping his school bag to the floor. He had taken one look at Kenma lingering in the club room after practice and decided that he was coming home with him. Kenma didn’t have the energy to argue— he had been doing enough of that with his mother lately, and it wasn’t even like he really wanted to go home anyways.

Kuroo’s grandmother walked out from the kitchen with an apron around her waist. “Welcome home,” she greeted. Her grey hair was tied up into a small bun, and she smiled widely and warmly as she noticed Kenma standing behind her grandson. “And welcome back, Kenma-kun.”

Kenma managed a small smile. “Sorry for intruding,” he murmured.

“He’s staying over for dinner,” Kuroo said, despite the fact that Kenma had never agreed to that. “And he might sleep over too, if that’s alright.”

His grandmother waved the two of them off. “Oh, you already know it’s no trouble. Just make yourself at home, and I’ll go set an extra place at the table.”

Kenma nodded weakly. He noticed Kuroo’s grandfather in the kitchen, helping his wife cook dinner, and wearing an apron to match her own. He waved at him, and Kenma waved slightly in return.

“I think they’re making curry udon,” Kuroo said, taking Kenma by the hand and pulling him further into the house. He led him upstairs and only let go of him once they were both in his bedroom.

Kuroo sat down on the bed, and Kenma collapsed into his lap, finally allowing himself to relax. Kuroo held him close and rubbed circles into the space between his shoulder blades. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

Kenma sighed. Kuroo could always tell when something was wrong— it wasn’t like there was any use in keeping it from him anyway. “I was late to school today.”

“You were. I meant to ask you what happened, but I never got around to it.”

“I overslept,” Kenma explained. “Mom got mad when I asked her to drive me. We got in a fight, and she called me manipulative, and I still had to walk to school afterwards.”

Kuroo didn’t say anything, but Kenma could tell he was grimacing.

Kenma continued, “It’s alright though-”

“It’s not alright,” Kuroo snapped, his voice soft to keep from scaring Kenma. “That’s terrible. You don’t deserve to be treated like that.”

Kenma sighed. He dropped his head onto Kuroo’s shoulder and twisted his fingers in the collar of his t-shirt. “You’re being sweet again.”

Kuroo took Kenma’s hand and pressed a kiss to his fingertips. “I’m being truthful. I’m serious when I say that you deserve so much more than her,” he said, and this time his words were firm and unrelenting.

This time, Kenma had almost let himself believe him.

* * *

Kenma had left all his belongings behind when he ran away from his mother, but thankfully, Bokuto and Kuroo took the time to figure out when she wouldn’t be home, and they dropped by to grab everything Kenma needed— and then some. They brought back his laptop, his games, and even the nendoroids he had been collecting since junior high.

Now, Kenma was sitting in the campus library, his fingers clacking across his laptop as he rushed to finish the assignments he hadn’t been able to turn in over the weekend. He didn’t have class until nearly noon today, but he needed a quiet place to get his work done, and staying alone at the apartment seemed too sad to be a viable option. At least this way, his partners would be able to visit him between their classes.

Kuroo had already stopped by a few times. He brought coffee with him on his third visit, and Kenma swore that he had never been so in love in his entire life.

He sighed in relief as he turned in his last assignment. His phone rang with another incoming call from his mother, and his breath caught in his throat.

Kenma knew that he was supposed to ignore her calls, but something inside of him wondered if he should just answer this one time. He could tell her that he was safe, and that she could stop worrying about him— and maybe she would leave him alone after that. 

He packed up his things in record time and answered the call as soon as he was out of the library. “Hello?”

 _“Kenma?”_ His mother sounded genuinely surprised that he had answered, and Kenma bit the inside of his cheek, feeling horrible for ignoring her for so long.

“Yeah… it’s me.”

She took in a deep breath. _“I’ve been calling for the past two days, and that’s honestly what you decide to lead with?”_ Her voice grew louder as she continued, _“Do you know how worried I’ve been? How little sleep I’ve gotten? I nearly called the fucking police to go out and find you, and you can’t even bother to apologize for all the trouble you’ve caused?”_

Kenma’s stomach sank all the way down to his toes. “I’m sorry.”

_“You should be. Where have you been?”_

“With Kuroo,” he said. “I’m gonna be staying with him for a while.”

His mother scoffed. _“Leave that boy and his roommates alone. They’re students, Kenma, they don’t need to spend all their time playing host to you.”_

Kenma gripped his phone tightly and stared at the ground. “They asked me to stay…”

 _“They’re being generous,”_ she said. _“Just think about it. You already stay over there so often, it’s only natural that they’re going to get sick of you being around. You’ve overstayed your welcome, Kenma. Leave them alone and come home.”_ Her words were harsh in a painfully familiar way, but despite what she was saying, it wasn’t true.

No matter what his mother said on the matter, Kenma knew that her words just weren’t the truth. His partners wanted him around, and there was nothing she could say to convince him otherwise.

“Kuroo wants me to stay because we’re together. He wants me to move in,” Kenma pointed out, and the same went for both Akaashi and Bokuto, but his mother didn’t deserve to know about their relationship just yet.

Kenma’s mother paused. _“Please tell me you’re joking.”_

His stomach threatened to sink again, but Kenma steeled his nerves. “I’m serious,” he said, and his mother groaned into the receiver.

_“God, Kenma, it’s like you don’t even hear yourself sometimes!”_

“What—”

 _“Do you know how hard it is to be your mother? Do you know how embarrassing it is to have you not just calling yourself a man, but to be advocating_ that _kind of lifestyle?”_ She continued maliciously, _“I mean, look at Tetsurou-kun. You’ve confused the poor boy so much that he’s convinced he’s into men.”_

Kenma ended the call. He had no reason to keep speaking to his mother, and even if he did, he absolutely didn’t deserve to be spoken to like that. He wasn’t entirely sure if he _deserved_ kindness, but he was slowly learning that it wasn’t normal for his mother to treat him so harshly.

Bokuto sprinted down the hall. He stopped in his tracks when he noticed Kenma standing outside the library. “Hey, Kenken,” he greeted, grinning brightly. “Did you get all your work done?”

Kenma nodded. Talking to his mother was a mistake. He was frustrated and antsy now, and all he wanted to do was nap until he was in a better mood.

“Something’s wrong,” Bokuto pointed out, looking at Kenma closely. “You’re like, super tense right now.”

“My mom said some stuff to me,” he admitted.

Bokuto’s expression shifted to a more serious look. “What kind of stuff?”

“I’m fine, so it doesn’t really matter.”

“You don’t look fine. But it’s alright if you don’t want to tell me about it,” Bokuto said, and Kenma was grateful for that. He would much rather talk about things like this with Kuroo or Akaashi. “Oh! I almost forgot! I was gonna ask if you wanted anything from the campus store, but since you’re done with your work, do you wanna just come with me?”

Kenma shrugged and started toward the store with Bokuto. It wasn’t like he had any reason to say no— his classes didn’t start for another thirty minutes, and Bokuto was on his lunch break right now.

The two of them walked across campus and into the store. Bokuto waved to the cashier, and Kenma vaguely recognized her as one of his classmates.

“Grab anything you want and I’ll pay for it, okay?” Bokuto offered.

Kenma nodded and went straight to the cooler to grab an energy drink. Bokuto reached over him to grab a couple bottles of water, and he pushed them into Kenma’s arms.

Kenma looked up at him. “Really?”

Bokuto nodded. “You need to drink more water,” he said, and he grabbed a muffin from a nearby shelf, shoving that into Kenma’s arms as well. He wasn’t going to say it aloud, but they both knew that Kenma also needed to eat more.

“I’m not hungry,” he insisted, but Bokuto knew him well enough to know that it was an excuse.

Bokuto was patient with him as he spoke. “You haven’t eaten anything today.”

Kenma shrugged. “I ate dinner last night.”

“Okay, well… we can split this then,” he tried. “It’s cinnamon flavored, so it’s practically like pie filling.”

“It’s really not.”

Bokuto paid for their things, and they left the store to sit at a table in the cafeteria. He tried his best not to watch Kenma as he carefully picked at the muffin, but Kenma could still feel the eyes on him. He hadn’t been eating very much lately, and it was obvious to his partners. They were worried about him, and Kenma felt the relief wash through Bokuto as he began to eat, just a little bit.

But even then, it wasn’t long until that uncomfortable feeling was back in his stomach. Kenma quickly handed the muffin over to Bokuto, no longer wanting to look at it. “I’m done.”

“Alright…” Bokuto wrapped it back up in the plastic and tucked it into Kenma’s school bag. “I’m not allowed to have food in my next class, so you can just finish it later, okay?”

Kenma bit the inside of his cheek. “Okay,” he said, but he knew that he wasn’t going to.

* * *

Kenma rolled over in bed and buried his face in the pillows. “I’m not getting up,” he groaned. He was in the middle of his post-classwork nap, and he absolutely did not want to be disturbed— but it seemed like some things were just too much to ask for.

Kuroo ignored his complaints and pulled him into a seated position. “Sweetheart, dinner’s gonna get cold if we take too long.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“I didn’t say you were,” Kuroo responded. “But can you sit with us anyways? If you get hungry, then you get hungry. And if you don’t, well, we aren’t going to force you to do anything you don’t want to do.”

Kenma hummed in consideration. “Fine,” he mumbled, still unhappy that he had been woken up, but willing to work with Kuroo’s terms. He got out of bed and followed Kuroo back out into the living room, promptly collapsing onto the couch and curling up with his cellphone. “Are you happy now?”

Kuroo leaned down to kiss him on the forehead. “Very,” he said, and then he headed into the kitchen to help Bokuto with the food. He pulled four plates from the cabinet and set one back onto the counter— Akaashi was still at work for the next hour, so it would just be the three of them today.

Well, the three of them, and the calico kitten. She was staring up at Kenma from the floor. He took a picture of her and texted it to Hinata.

**Shouyou (Friday 18:54)**

No way no way no way

Is that the same cat from before??????

**Kenma (Friday 18:55)**

yeah she’s a little monster

i took her back and we got her shots done and everything

**Shouyou (Friday 18:58)**

And you didn’t tell me sooner ;;_;;

**Kenma (Friday 18:59)**

i forgot

also i moved in with kuroo

**Shouyou (Friday 19:00)**

WHAT????

Kenma picked the kitten up and rubbed behind her ears. His phone began to vibrate nonstop, and he turned the ringer off, swearing to look at the rest of Hinata’s texts later. He was too easily excitable for his own good, and Kenma didn’t always have the energy to keep up with him.

Kuroo walked out of the kitchen with Bokuto in tow. He set their plates down and noticed the kitten in Kenma’s lap. “You know, you should probably name her. Any longer and she’s gonna start thinking her name is Kitty.”

Kenma shrugged noncommitmentally. “I’m working on it,” he said, and Bokuto sat down beside him, his plate stacked high with tempura and teriyaki chicken. 

“I kinda like calling her Kitty though,” Bokuto added.

Kenma rolled his eyes. “We’re not naming her Kitty. I’m not six years old, I can give her a decent name.”

Kuroo sat down and grinned. “Then why haven’t you?”

“Shut up. I said I’m working on it.” Kenma glared at him, but there was no real heat behind his eyes. Kuroo snickered, and Bokuto laughed, and after the two of them calmed down, they began to go back and forth on shitty name ideas for their new pet.

Kenma only listened to them half-heartedly. He poked at his food and picked the batter off his tempura vegetables, content with playing with his meal rather than actually eating it.

* * *

It wasn’t a secret that Kenma had been going through a lot lately. He was more quiet and more on edge than he usually was— so when his dad called to tell him that he could use some help moving into his new apartment, Kenma didn’t hesitate to hop on the train to see him. His dad was an ever calming presence in his life, and even after all the time they had spent apart from each other, Kenma still felt at peace when he was around.

“So,” Kenma’s dad began, setting a box down on the table. “How’s your mother doing?”

Kenma shrugged from his place on the floor, where he was carefully unboxing glasses and setting them aside. “I don’t know. I don’t live with her anymore.”

His dad blinked. “You don’t?”

Kenma nodded and pushed away his newly empty box. He began to do the same thing with the ceramic plates. “I moved in with Kuroo and some friends of ours in the city. Things are a lot… less stressful now,” he said, and his dad laughed under his breath.

“Your mother is a very… stressful woman,” he agreed as he unpacked a framed photo. He set it down on the table, and Kenma recognized it as a family photo from one of his birthdays. “She likes people to act in specific ways, and she gets upset when they don’t behave exactly how she likes.”

Kenma got up to take a closer look at the picture. Everyone was smiling, but his father’s expression was hollow and empty— it was absolutely nothing like the smile Kenma had seen on him recently.

“The divorce was actually her idea, you know,” his dad continued.

Kenma looked at him in disbelief. “But you were miserable.”

He smiled sadly and nodded. “Splitting up used to be an empty threat she used when I disagreed with her. I wanted to try to work things out or at least be amicable with her, but when she started bringing you into things, I figured we should just go through with it.”

“Then why do you still have stuff like this?” Kenma asked, picking up the picture frame. “I feel like you should hate her after everything she put you through.”

“It’s been a long time since I was with your mother. I don’t feel the need to erase her from my life anymore. I’m content just not being around her,” his father explained, and Kenma supposed that made sense. “I don’t get along with her, but I can’t really hate her either. Not when she’s the reason I have my son in my life.”

Kenma nodded quietly and shifted uncomfortably, unsure of how to react to such straightforward affection. His mother never said things like that to him— never made him feel like he was worth very much at all, but he was definitely a fan of this.

He was definitely a fan of his dad.

* * *

Kenma flushed his breakfast down the toilet and stood up, his knees aching from resting against the floor tiles for so long. His eyes burned with unshed tears, and he made sure to wash his hands before wiping them away. He rinsed his mouth out to get rid of the taste of stomach acid on his tongue— and then he walked out into the living room, ready to pretend like absolutely nothing was wrong.

Bokuto called out to him from the kitchen. “Hey, babe, can you come here for a second?” He had been in the living room when Kenma left, but he must have moved around some since then.

Kenma walked over, and Bokuto pressed a teacup into his hands.

“It’s warm water and honey.” Bokuto was uncharacteristically soft as he spoke. “It always helps Keiji’s throat feel better after he throws up,” he said, and Kenma’s blood instantly ran cold.

“I wasn’t- I wasn’t puking,” he tried to insist, but the ruined tone of his voice only served to prove Bokuto’s point.

“It’s alright, I’m not upset,” Bokuto reassured.

“I didn’t-”

“Kenma,” Bokuto slated calmly. “I might not be super observant, but I’m not stupid. You know it’s not good to hurt yourself like this.”

Kenma stared down at the ground. “It’s not a big deal,” he muttered, but not even he could believe himself this time.

“Don’t say that.” Bokuto looked sadder than Kenma had seen him in a while. “Keiji’s been coming to therapy with me for a while now and-”

“I don’t need to talk to anyone.”

Bokuto looked at him. “Sweetheart, you barely eat. And when you do, you throw it back up,” he pointed out, and Kenma felt the shame spreading throughout his chest and seeping into his bones.

Kenma didn’t want to talk about this anymore. He didn’t want to be having this conversation. “This is normal for me,” he weakly tried to insist.

“It’s really not,” Bokuto said softly. “We’re worried about you. We all just want you to be healthy and happy.”

“I’m fine,” Kenma tried, his voice sounding watery to his ears.

Bokuto took the cup from his hands and set it back on the counter. He pulled Kenma in for a hug, and Kenma relaxed just the slightest, listening to Bokuto’s heartbeat in his chest. “It’s okay,” he reassured. “It’s going to be okay, but we have to tell Keiji and Tetsu about this.”

“They’re going to hate me.”

“They could never hate you,” Bokuto promised. “They’ll just be worried, that's all.”

* * *

“Wait, _what?”_

Kenma stared down at his hands, unwilling to look his partners in the eye. He swallowed down the anxiety bubbling in his throat. “I’ve kind of started purging, and it’s… not good.”

Akaashi cleared his throat weakly, trying to piece his thoughts together. “How long has this been going on?”

“Not long,” Kenma reluctantly admitted. Bokuto squeezed his hand encouragingly, and he continued, forcing the words out, “I’ve done it a few times before, but it’s turned into a habit recently.”

Kuroo sighed heavily. “Kenma, please look at us,” he requested, and Kenma bit the inside of his lip as he did so. He looked absolutely _shattered,_ while Akaashi looked pale and hurt, like his world had just come crashing down around him.

“Why would you do that to yourself?”

Kenma looked back down to his lap. “I’m sorry.”

Akaashi quickly shook his head. “No, I mean… that’s not what I meant,” he started, stumbling over his words in an uncharacteristic way. He took a deep breath to collect himself. “Purging is the single worst thing I’ve ever done to myself, and it didn’t just come out of nowhere. Why would you start hurting yourself like that all of a sudden?”

Kenma couldn’t tell him. He couldn’t tell them about Maeda— they would be disgusted with him, and never look at him the same way again.

“Did something else happen at home?” Akaashi asked softly, and Kenma nodded just the slightest. “What happened?”

“I can’t tell you.”

Bokuto rubbed his thumb over Kenma’s knuckles and spoke up. “You know… I’ve been talking with Kenma about therapy. Maybe all of us should go in for a group session sometime.”

Kuroo nodded in agreement. “I think it would be a good idea. Kou’s therapist is good at her job. She knows how to listen better than any of us can.”

“Do you think you could try it out?” Akaashi asked, and while Kenma really didn’t want to, it was always hard to say no when all three of them were asking him for something like this.

Kenma swallowed down his pride and nodded. “Yeah. Okay, I’ll try.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) i promise i'm almost done hurting kenma,,, i promise our boy get his happy ending  
> 2) comment comment comment and i'll love you forever


	8. There's A Daisy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okok i promise i'm done hurting him... after this one chapter :)

Kenma walked into the therapist’s office, and the first thing he noticed was how bland everything looked. The walls were ugly and beige, and the couch sitting against the wall was a muted grey color. It looked like something out of a magazine catalogue, but his partners didn’t see anything wrong with it, so he followed them into the room.

There was a middle aged woman waiting for them inside, and she smiled brightly as she noticed Kenma hiding behind Bokuto. “Oh, we have Kozume-san with us today! That’s wonderful. I’m Sanka Sachiko, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” she greeted, and Kenma quickly swallowed down his anxiety to bow to her.

“Kozu… Kozume Kenma,” he mumbled out, introducing himself.

Sanka was small. She wore a large sweater on her shoulders, and looked as sweet as someone could possibly be— but despite that, Kenma still felt on edge. He didn’t want to be here. He knew that he agreed to come meet with Bokuto and Akaashi’s therapist today, but he was instantly regretting that decision.

Sanka gestured for all of them to come sit down, and Kenma hesitated, debating whether or not he should just walk out of the room and sit in the car for the next hour. But Kuroo must have read his mind, because then he was pulling Kenma over to sit on the couch with him. It was much softer than it seemed at first glance, and Kenma almost found himself relaxing. Akaashi and Bokuto took the chairs on either side of them, and Sanka took her seat at the head of the room.

Akaashi cleared his throat and spoke up. “I’ll start, if that’s alright,” he said. “It’s been a difficult week to get through.”

Sanka turned her attention to him. “Why do you say that?”

Akaashi sighed, beginning to worry his fingers. “I suppose it’s because Kuroo and I learned that Kozume had been purging lately,” he explained, referring to them by their surnames to make things simpler for Sanka. “I feel… helpless in this situation because I’m supposed to be the observant one, but I didn’t even realize what he had been doing until he came out and told us.”

“It sounds like you feel responsible for Kozume-san’s actions.”

“I wouldn’t say  _ responsible,” _ Akaashi began, “But I feel as though the idea wouldn’t have occurred to him if I didn’t have a history with purging.”

Kenma looked up from his lap. “Don’t do that,” he said, his words sharp. “It’s my problem, so don’t blame yourself for it.”

Akaashi met his eyes with an unrelenting gaze. “We’re together, Kenma. You don’t have to deal with things like this alone.”

Kuroo nodded, taking Kenma’s hand in his. “That’s how relationships are supposed to work,” he added, despite how badly Kenma wished that it wasn’t. He constantly felt like he was drowning, and the last thing he wanted to do was bring everyone down with him,

He wanted to run. He wanted to be back at the apartment— nowhere near here, and nowhere near confronting his problems. He didn’t belong here, and the longer he stayed, the more it became apparent to him.

“Kozume-san? What are you thinking about?” Sanka asked softly, but rather than responding, Kenma simply stayed silent and shook his head.

Bokuto tried to encourage him. “C’mon, Kenma, she’s here to listen to you.”

“I don’t have anything to talk about.”

“Kenma, please,” Kuroo tried, but he refused to budge. “I’m sorry. He doesn’t like to talk very much.”

Sanka hummed. “There’s nothing wrong with that. Some people take a bit longer to get used to counseling than others,” she reassured, almost as if she expected Kenma to come back for another session after this. “Is there anything specific I should know about the situation at hand?”

Kenma didn’t particularly want her to know anything about him. He stayed silent once again, refusing to speak, and Kuroo sighed in defeat.

“Do you… want me to speak up for you?”

Kenma shrugged. “Do whatever you want.”

Kuroo nodded and cleared his throat. “His mother is a narcissist and he only moved away from her recently,” he explained to Sanka. “He has bad anxiety, he occasionally dissociates after having attacks, and he has a history of… food troubles, but the purging is a new thing for him.”

Kenma wanted to curl up and disappear. It all sounded so much worse now that Kuroo was saying it aloud.

Sanka pulled a notebook out from her purse and wrote something down. “And by  _ food troubles, _ I assume you mean restricting.” Kuroo nodded, and she continued, “The two of you grew up together, is that right?”

“We did.”

Sanka hummed. “It must be difficult watching someone you care about neglect their health,” she said, ripping a page out from her notebook. She offered it to Kuroo. “I wrote down the information for a dietician in the area. I think nutrition counseling may be beneficial for Kozume-san, as well as regular talk therapy.”

Kuroo took the referral. “Thank you.”

Sanka smiled at Kenma, her face as gentle and warm as ever. “I do hope you’ll give us both a try. Therapy is worth the effort, but it’s only helpful if you make an effort to get better.”

The rest of the session was uneventful and uncomfortable. Kenma didn’t speak again until they were back at the apartment and he was collapsing into the loveseat by the window.

“That was a waste of time,” he sighed, rubbing his hands together to regain the feeling in the tips of his fingers. Even with the heat on, he was still cold more often than not nowadays.

Akaashi pulled a blanket from the closet and draped it over him. “It only helps if you go regularly,” he said, and Kenma fixed him with a look.

“You never said I had to go more than once.”

“I thought it was implied.”

Kuroo groaned loudly and wiped a hand down his face. He looked tired. “Kenma,  _ please. _ You’re sick. You need to talk to someone.”

Kenma narrowed his eyes, suddenly feeling defensiveness claw its way up his throat. “I’m not sick, I’m just-”

“Just what?” Kuroo asked harshly. “Starving yourself? Making yourself puke? Those are things sick people do.”

Bokuto grabbed Kuroo by the arm. “Woah, there. Let’s just take a break and calm down for a while, okay?” He dragged Kuroo out of the living room and into one of the bedrooms, leaving Akaashi alone with a fuming Kenma.

Kenma clenched his fists and inhaled sharply. “He has no right to say that to me.”

“He shouldn't have said that,” Akaashi agreed.

“I’m fine. I’m not sick,” Kenma insisted, but his voice was quickly growing watery. He blinked away the frustrated tears and cleared his throat. “I’m not fucking sick.”

“I never said that you were.” Akaashi cupped Kenma’s face in his hands, his thumbs resting on sharp cheekbones. “But you are going to  _ make yourself sick _ if you continue like this. You’re not okay. This is getting out of hand.”

“I’m not talking about this,” Kenma said, and then he stood up too quickly, his head swooning as he made his way to his feet. Akaashi caught him before he could fully lose his balance. He fixed Kenma with a knowing stare, and Kenma quickly pulled out of his grip and disappeared into the free bedroom, content to take a nap and ignore his problems for however long he could manage.

* * *

Kenma sat at his desk, counting down the minutes until his professor dismissed class. He was in his last lesson of the day, but while he was usually a fan of this class, he wanted nothing more than to go home so he could figure out why he felt so terrible today. His hands were freezing and shaking, but the rest of him felt hot. He felt like complete and utter shit— like he was sick, but not in the usual way. This time his head was aching and felt heavy, but at the same time, part of him was convinced that it wasn’t even attached to the rest of his body.

“Remember to turn in your assignments over the weekend.” His professor’s words barely processed in his ears. “I’ll see you all on Monday,” she said, and Kenma grabbed his things and staggered to his feet. He felt as if the world had just shifted on its axis. His head went fuzzy and faded out, and everything went black for a moment.

When Kenma opened his eyes, he was on the floor. His head was resting in the lap of one of his classmates, and she was staring down at him, terrified.

“H-he’s awake, I think.”

Kenma winced at her voice, ringing high and shrill in his ears. His head hurt so badly— worse than before, and he honestly felt like he was about to cry.

His professor stood at her desk, speaking quickly into the phone. She whispered a quick  _ thanks, _ and hung up suddenly, walking over to kneel next to Kenma and his classmate. “Kozume-san, do you remember what happened?”

Kenma tried to pull his mind back from wherever it had wandered off to. “I fainted,” he mumbled, because, yeah, it was pretty obvious given his situation.

“You did. And you hit your head,” his professor softly explained. “The campus nurse is coming to make sure you don’t have a concussion or any serious injuries. It’s school policy, so you’ll have to stay until she evaluates you.”

Kenma felt as if he was made of cement. He forced himself to sit up— and realizing that he was having trouble getting up, his classmate helped him to his feet and sat him down at one of the desks.

If he didn’t feel so physically gross, he would have been horrified. He was so pathetic that he had to depend on the kindness of near strangers to do the simplest of tasks.

“Kozume-san, do you have any more classes today?” His classmate asked, and Kenma shook his head in response. “You should probably call someone to take you home, then. I don’t think you should be walking anywhere alone when you’re so… out of it.”

Kenma nodded and pulled his phone out from his pocket.

**Kenma (Friday 14:48)**

can u pick me up from class

**Tetsurou (Friday 14:50)**

sure thing

is something wrong?

**Kenma (Friday 14:51)**

kind of

The campus nurse showed up and checked Kenma for a concussion. It took a lot less time than he was expecting, and as it turned out, he was fine. His head just hurt a lot from hitting the floor.

“It seems like everything’s alright here. No concussion as far as I can tell, but if you start showing symptoms, you should go to the hospital so they can check again.”

Kenma’s classmate, Igarashi— he just remembered her name— came back into the room with a juice box and some cookies she bought at the vending machine down the hall. She handed them to the nurse, and the nurse handed them to Kenma.

“You might not have a concussion, but you  _ have  _ shown signs of hypoglycemia. You need to remember to keep your blood sugar up, if you have difficulties with that,” the nurse explained, but all Kenma heard was  _ eat more or else this is going to happen again. _

Kuroo walked into the room and noticed the nurse hovering over Kenma. All of the blood drained from his face.

The nurse looked over at him. “Are you friends with Kozume-san?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Kuroo responded. “What, uh… what happened?”

She checked on Kenma to make sure he was eating his snacks before turning back to Kuroo. “Apparently he fainted on his way out of class. I evaluated him for a concussion and everything checked out, but his blood sugar did seem low, so Igarashi-san here was kind enough to get him something to eat.”

Kenma set down the newly empty juice box and cookie wrapper, wanting nothing more than to forget about everything that had just happened. “I’m finished. Can we leave now?”

The nurse nodded. “Yes, of course. Just remember to take care of yourself. Physical and mental health go hand in hand,” she said, and Kenma was out of the room as quickly as he could manage. Kuroo walked him back to the apartment in silence, refusing to let go of him until the two of them were back inside.

Kuroo dropped his things to the floor and sat down on the couch with his face buried in his hands. Kenma’s heart ached. He hung up their school bags and coats in the genkan, and curled up next to Kuroo in an attempt to comfort him.

“I’m scared, Kenma,” Kuroo admitted.

Kenma didn’t know what to say. Today was a first time for him— he had been close to fainting in public before, but it had never actually  _ happened. _

“You’re- you’re just so small. You don’t take care of yourself anymore. I’m scared you’re just gonna disappear one day.”

“I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere,” Kenma reassured, but he struggled to believe his own words.

Kuroo grabbed at Kenma and pulled him into his lap to hug him. Kenma’s stomach sank as he realized Kuroo wasn’t holding him as tightly as he used to— it was almost like he was afraid to touch him.

This was bad. Kenma was getting bad.

He hesitantly wrapped his arms around Kuroo and buried his face against his shoulder. His eyes burned with unshed tears. “This isn’t good for me, Kuro.”

Kuroo nodded. “It’s not. You’re hurting yourself.”

“I don’t think I can stop myself this time.”

“It’s okay. I know,” he said, and Kenma reached up with thin fingers to wipe the tears from his eyes. Kuroo held him tighter. “That’s why we want to get you some help. And if Sanka-san doesn’t work, then we’ll keep trying until we find someone who does.”

Kenma sniffled. “What if I take too long?”

“Not possible,” Kuroo said, leaving no room for debate. “We’ll wait forever for you if we have to.”

* * *

Kenma stared down at his plate. Bokuto had made steamed fish and potatoes for dinner, and that was fine. Kenma liked fish and he could tolerate potatoes. The only issue was that he couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten meat, and he was hesitant to get back into the habit again.

Akaashi noticed his impending anxiety and reached across the table to take Kenma’s hand in his own. “I know it’s difficult, but you need to eat something,” he softly reminded, and Kenma knew that he really didn’t have any choice in the matter. He had promised his partners that he was going to try his best to get better, and his nutritionist made it very apparent that eating regularly was the first step in doing so.

Kenma picked up his chopsticks with shaky hands and broke off a miniscule piece of salmon to start with. He bit into it and recoiled, and despite Akaashi’s reassuring words, he instantly knew that he  _ couldn’t fucking do this. _

He stood up abruptly, cutting off Kuroo and Bokuto’s conversation to bolt to the trash can. He was going to projectile vomit if this stayed in his mouth any longer.

“Kenma.”

He was going to lose control and never stop eating, and he wouldn’t be able to recognize himself anymore, and—

“Kenma, please.”

Their voices were distant in his ears as everything melted away like wax, hot and uncomfortable, getting stuck between his ears as his head spun circles around him.

“Let’s just sit down for a bit, okay?”

“Okay,” Kenma wheezed out. He bolted his eyes shut, and someone gently helped him to the floor so he could rest against the wall. It was cold against his hot skin. His shirt was too big, but now it felt two sizes too small— and he was trying to breathe, but there was no air in his lungs.

He rested his head on his knees and closed in on himself, scratching his arm, desperate for something—  _ anything _ to break through the fog settling on his mind. His ears were filled with white noise, and his skin was hot and on fire.

“Hey, baby, you’re gonna hurt yourself if you keep that up.” The gentle voice was miles away in his head. “Is it okay if I touch you?”

Kenma cracked his eyes open through burning tears, and Kuroo was clear and familiar in front of him.

Kuroo gently reached for him, pulling his hand away from the red lines on his arm. He smiled softly when Kenma didn’t flinch away from his touch. “Good, see, that’s good,” he encouraged, and then he reminded Kenma that Bokuto and Akaashi were there with them as well.

Kenma could feel the relief cooling in the back of his mind and soothing his nerves.

Bokuto had been one of the first things to melt away from Kenma, but now he was just beside him, sitting against the wall and being a reassuring presence. Kenma reached out and took his hand, and it was warm and heavy and comforting in his own.

He felt  _ safe, _ and that realization alone was enough to make him sob. “I’m sorry,” he whimpered, trying to wipe away the tears with his free hand.

“C’mon, don’t be like that. You’re gonna break my heart,” Kuroo said, speaking to him with that beautifully familiar voice. “We’re all right here, and we’re not gonna let anything bad happen to you. You’re gonna be okay, but right now, you have to breathe or else you’re gonna cry yourself sick.”

Kenma was coming back to himself, slowly but surely. He took in a few good lungfuls of air, and everything released at once, his body dropping like a ragdoll. Bokuto made a move to scoop him up, but he pulled back, shaking his head.

“I might throw up,” Kenma mumbled. His voice was raspy, and Akaashi unfroze from where he was standing to get him something to drink. He pulled a water bottle from the fridge and offered it to Kenma, who accepted it gratefully. He took small sips and breathed in deeply, revelling in what it was like to feel his lungs once again.

Akaashi looked at Kenma’s arm and winced at the red marks. “You’ve been biting your nails again.”

“You say that like I stopped in the first place.”

Akaashi walked out of the kitchen and disappeared into his bedroom, coming back with a soothing salve in hand. Kuroo shifted over to sit in front of Kenma and pulled Akaashi down into his lap, hooking his chin over his shoulder.

“Nail biting is terrible for your teeth, and you’re more likely to hurt yourself when you scratch like this,” Akaashi continued, applying the salve to Kenma’s arm. “I don’t appreciate it very much when you’re hurt. None of us do.”

A feeling of guilt washed over Kenma, settling deep into his chest. “I know,” he admitted.

Akaashi and Bokuto narrowed their eyes at him, but Kuroo was the one to speak up first. “Why’d you say it like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re apologizing for something,” Kuroo pointed out, and Kenma had to take a moment to think before he answered.

“I don’t know,” he replied. “I just know I’m a lot to take care of.”

Bokuto took Kenma’s hand again, squeezing it in a reassuring gesture. “We love you.” He was straightforward as always, and Kenma looked away, convinced that he didn’t deserve the affection after everything he had put his partners through. “Hey, don’t do that. We love you, and that’s not gonna change no matter what.”

“I’m more trouble than I’m worth,” Kenma insisted, but then Akaashi looked at him with beautiful eyes— unwavering and unfaltering as he always was.

“You aren’t bothering us. You’ve never bothered us, so stop treating yourself so harshly.”

* * *

Kenma was terrible at lying to his partners, but he could easily keep things from them. He was bad at communicating, but he was straight-forward when he wanted something from one of them. He was a distorted mess of a person, but hopefully another counseling session would begin to straighten things out for him.

Kenma took his seat on the very soft, very ugly couch in Sanka’s office. His boyfriends took their seats around the room, and Sanka folded her hands in her lap.

“Kozume-san, I was hoping we could talk about your family today,” she proposed, and despite immediately wanting to recoil from the topic, Kenma nodded in agreement.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat for a moment. He still didn’t particularly want to be in therapy, but he supposed he could push through if being here was enough to put his partners at ease. “My parents divorced when I was younger,” he admitted. “They used to fight so loudly that Kuroo could hear it from next door.”

“That’s terrible,” Sanka said, and yeah, it really was. “I’m sorry you grew up in an environment like that. Has your mother had any relationships since your father?”

Kenma’s mother went through boyfriends like matches— so rather than wracking his mind for a number, he merely nodded and said, “Yes, but they never lasted long.”

Kuroo sat up in his seat. “She actually got married again recently,” he added. “Is this one going any better for her?”

Kenma shrugged and looked at the ground, instantly closing himself off from the conversation. It was so,  _ so  _ obvious that something was wrong, and he knew he wasn’t doing a good job of hiding it anymore.

Sanka hummed. “Did you get along well with your mother’s husband before you left?”

“He was the reason I left.”

Akaashi looked up and furrowed his brows. “What do you mean? I thought you left because your mother hit you.”

Kenma nodded. “She hit me because of Maeda.”

Bokuto tilted his head to the side, confused. “He asked her to hit you?” Kenma shook his head, and he continued, “Then what happened? We’re right here. You can tell us anything.”

“He kissed me, okay?” Kenma bristled and bit the inside of his cheek. “I didn’t want him around, and my mom wanted him to move in, and I freaked out, and she hit me. That’s what happened.”

The room went quiet.

Akaashi was the one to break the tense silence, seething in cold and clipped anger. “He  _ what?” _

Kenma shook his head furiously. “I really don’t want to talk about it,” he said, already regretting opening his mouth in the first place.

Sanka looked at Kenma with nothing but warm sympathy in her eyes. “Talking about things usually makes them hurt less, Kozume-san. Have you spoken about this with anyone before?”

“I’ve never said it out loud until now,” Kenma replied, avoiding eye contact with any of his partners. He didn’t want to see their faces after telling them something so  _ terrible _ and  _ wrong. _

Bokuto sniffled and cleared his throat. “When did… when did he do that?”

Kenma didn’t want to respond, but he knew that he had to. He knew that this was the real reason all of them were here today. “The night before I came to school with all the cuts on my hands,” he said.

“That was the day you were zoning out really badly,” Bokuto realized, his voice growing watery. Sanka reached over to hand him a box of tissues. Bokuto gladly accepted her kindness and blew his nose as Kuroo rubbed comforting circles into his back.

“What’s going on in your head right now, Bokuto-san?” Sanka asked.

“I was there with him the day after it happened— me and ‘Kaashi were there with him, and we knew something was wrong, but we didn’t do anything about it.” Bokuto sounded absolutely crushed. His voice was breaking and wavering as he spoke, and he almost sounded like he did when he had been crying for hours. “We should have pushed harder to figure it out.”

Sanka hummed. “I think you and Akaashi-san are similar people,” she said. “You both like to linger on your regrets and beat yourselves up over things you had no control over. I can only assume that Kuroo-san is the same way.”

“He is,” Akaashi confirmed.

Sanka continued, “So rather than blaming ourselves for something that’s already in the past, how about we use constructive wording to communicate better and discuss how we can change our actions in the future?”

Bokuto was the first to speak up. “I feel sad, because I didn’t know that something so serious had happened,” he said, and Sanka nodded encouragingly.

Akaashi cleared his throat and went next. “I feel hurt that Kozume didn’t feel safe enough to come to us about this. I also feel distraught, because he continued to live in an unsafe household after that happened, despite how upfront we had been about wanting him to move in.”

Sanka turned her attention to Kenma and Kuroo. “Would either of you like to add anything?”

Kuroo rubbed the back of his neck, trying to figure out his words. “I’m not good with naming feelings, but— I don’t know— I feel upset with Kenma’s mom because she’s a shitty parent, and this happened in her house, and she didn’t do anything about it.”

“It wasn’t her fault. She wasn’t even home,” Kenma said, and Kuroo sighed, shaking his head.

“Stop defending her. She had no reason to leave you alone with her creepy new husband,” he insisted. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

Kenma fidgeted with his fingers, trying to find the words to explain himself. “I felt gross after it happened. I didn’t want you to think the same thing.”

“Sweetheart, we would never think that,” Kuroo gently reassured, and this time, Kenma believed him.

“I know. It’s just… hard to believe things like that sometimes.”

Sanka took the opportunity to speak up. “Do you think that’s because of the way you were raised? With your mother constantly putting you down?”

Kenma shrugged. “Probably.”

“Have you ever heard of narcissistic abuse?” Sanka asked, and Kenma shook his head. “More or less, it’s a type of emotional abuse that causes victims to feel as if they can’t do anything right, and that they still need their abuser in their life because they’ve been convinced that they’re too inept to function,” she explained. “Do you think that sounds familiar?”

“Yeah.” Kenma bristled and stared at the ground. “That’s such a heavy word though…”

“And from what I’ve heard, you’ve been through some pretty heavy experiences,” Sanka gently reminded. “Abuse isn’t a dirty word, Kozume-san. It’s an umbrella term that encompasses a lot of the things your mother has put you through, and it’s okay to use it, because that’s what the word is meant for.”

Kenma nodded and swallowed down the lump in his throat. He was abused, and while that wasn’t okay, he was working to get better from it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) i stg i'm so ready for this story to be over i've been writing at the speed of light  
> 2) sanka is rad as hell and is kind of based off my own therapist (she has ugly beige walls too)


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